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mylovesstuffs · 29 days ago

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The Colour Was Crimson — Kwon Soonyoung

One dies. One lives. One forgets.

There is no logic to the moment you chose to trust him; a knight who might hand you over come morning, a man who said little and promised less. He was supposed to stop you. You were meant to keep running. And yet, in the cold hush of a forest steeped in rain, with prophecy wrapped around your neck like a noose, you find yourself leaning into the warmth of the only person who hasn’t asked you to be anything but alive. Beneath a tattered cloak and a leaking roof, you share a night together suspended in something like safety

Genre: Historical fantasy, romance (?), slow burn, dramatic realism, introspective character study, strangers-to-???

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung × runaway princess!reader

Content: Runaway royalty, stormy night in a shared cloak, strangers-to-something, knight × princess dynamic, prophecies, fate vs. free will, existential introspection, emotionally repressed knight, one-bed trope (?) (cramped hut edition), wounded pasts, survival in the wild, bittersweet comfort, philosophical undertones, reluctant alliance, prophecy entanglement ("one dies, one lives, one forgets"), themes of sonder, and that classic thunderstorm backdrop

Warning: Light references to past violence, implied political escape/war themes, mentions of blood and prophecy-related fate/death

Word count: 2179 words

A/N: LISTEN. this was soonyoung’s birthday fic and i was six minutes from flopping the entire mission by not posting on time. i posted this thing RAW at 11:59 KST. not even a title. no tags. no genre. no under the cut. just running on time and blind panic. if you blinked, you’d have no clue who it was for unless you read 80% through and saw the name of the member 😭 (yes, his name was written after lots of blabbering) anyway. it’s barely here, but here. this fic was born in a swamp of my deeply romanticised obsession with the, one night under a shared cloak trope. also knight soonyoung. stoic. leather. prophecy-haunted. emotionally constipated. yeah. this is my first draft with all the frizz of one, but i weirdly love it. shoutout to my discord pals who witnessed the meltdown in real time (you know who you are), and to tumblr’s draft system for always being the final boss.

happy birthday to the man who contains multitudes: tiger and tulip, chaos [confusion in gose too] and choreography, laughter and love, heart and hurricane. you’re the type of person who could lead an army into battle and then cry because the confetti cannon missed its cue. a man who dances like the stage is on fire and loves like his heart was never once broken. your laughter is loud, your spirit louder, and somewhere in between the two, we all fell a little more in love with life just by watching you live it. stay wild. stay tiger. stay soonyoung. happy birthday, our horangi. i'll always be the #1 supporter of horangi cult ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

The mud clung to your boots dragging you down with every step. Rain lashed the trees, a wild downpour that turned the forest trail into a treacherous mire. Branches clawed at your hood, soaked through from hours beneath the weeping sky. Still, you pressed on, breath shallowed with shoulders hunched beneath a worn cloak no longer fit to shield you.

You stumbled, again. And then a hand gloved in ash-toned leather, caught your elbow firmly.

“I told you to step where I do,” came his voice, deep and tacit.

You didn't thank him, never did. Instead, you replied, “Perhaps if you talked more and glared less, I’d know where to step.”

He did not answer; rarely ever did. A stoic knight forged in duty, sworn to a kingdom not your own—and against better judgment, aiding a runaway princess whose name he dared not speak aloud.

Lightning carved a split in the sky, the brief flare illuminated the path ahead; if it could be called that. Just endless trees and endless rain. Somewhere, far behind you, the clamor of hounds and steel still echoed faintly through the hills. They hadn’t evanesced, yet.

Tightening the straps of his leather satchel, “keep moving,” he said.

But the storm had other plans. By the time you stumbled upon the hut that was barely wide enough for two to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, it was already half-swallowed by the woods, cloaked in moss. An old hunting shelter, perhaps. A relic of some forgotten war. You stepped inside, mud dripping from your hem. He followed wordlessly, shutting the creaking door behind you. The roof wept in places, but it was better than the wrath of the storm.

He shrugged off his sodden cloak, jaw tight. You eyed it, then him. “Well?” you asked.

He stared. “Well what?”

You huffed, peeling off your own cloak and wringing it out. “You were talking too much for someone who usually says nothing at all,” you said, voice sharp as sleet. That earned you a glance, but nothing more.

The storm howled. Wind seeped through the cracks in the timber walls like breath through clenched teeth. You shivered. Without a word, he shifted closer as he noticed, unfurling his cloak. It was soaked, but still warm from his body. Seeing this, you hesitated a little bit.

“What?” he asked. “Dared the woods, but frightened of my cloak?”

“It’s not that,” you murmured, taking a seat beside him. “Just... I’m not used to kindness that doesn’t ask for something in return.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. “I’m not being kind. I don’t want you to die of cold before I hand you over.”

You glanced up at him. “So you will hand me over?”

A pause, then, softer, “I don’t know yet.”

Rain danced on the roof like pearls rolling across wood. You curled beneath the shared cloak, closer to him than proprietary would ever have allowed, were you still in court and not in this forsaken patch of wilderness where rules meant little and survival meant more.

“Do you believe in prophecy?” you asked in a hushed voice.

He turned to you, his profile carved from shadow and ember-glow. He’d lit a small fire, somehow, despite the wetness, and it flickered now between you, casting a crimson gleam against his cheekbone. “No,” he said. Then, “Yes. Perhaps.”

“There’s one about me,” you said. “About the girl who runs, and the man who stops her. One dies. One lives. One forgets.”

“Romantic,” he said, with dry disinterest. But his eyes stayed on you.

“It’s not meant to be,” you said, lips curving bitterly. “Prophecies never are.”

Another silence. It wasn't tense at all, just… heavy with sonder. The ache of two lives that should never have crossed. The fire cracked, and he shifted. You watched the lines of his face which were drawn and tired, but noble in their own way; seraphic, almost, when the flames caught just right. You thought of the courts he came from, the sword at his hip, the blood he’d drawn, the blood he refused to speak of.

And you — a girl who’d once worn silk, now cloaked in dirt and guilt and secrets. A girl who once smiled for paintings, now pressed into a hut with a man she barely knew but already trusted more than anyone else.

“Why did you come with me?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you. “I don't know.”

“Liar.”

“Verily,” he said, with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Minutes passed, and the fire dimmed. You felt his breath before you heard it. It was slow, steady. Then he shifted just enough for your shoulder to brush his.

“Sleep,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Try.”

“Will you watch?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I’ll watch.”

And so, you dared to close your eyes, against better judgment, in a hut barely wide enough for two, under a storm that tried to drown you, beside a man who might hand you over come morning—and yet, in this moment, was the only thing in the world that felt safe. Alas, fate was cruel.

But for one night, beneath a shared cloak, beneath thunder and whispers of prophecy, you let yourself believe otherwise.

When you woke up, it was still raining. Grey light seeped through the broken shutters, ash-pale and cold. You were still beneath his cloak, tucked against his side like some weary burden he had forgotten to push away. He hadn't moved. Not much, anyway.

You shifted slowly, limbs sore from sleep and too many miles. His arm, heavy with the weight of leather and muscle, slid from your shoulders with a reluctant grace. He was awake, you realized.

You felt the rigid stillness of someone pretending otherwise, before he spoke.

“You stayed,” your voice was hoarse. “I thought you’d vanish before sunrise.”

“I thought about it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

His reply came slow. “Couldn’t get the fire going again without you snoring on it.”

You snorted. “So I’m good for kindling, then?”

“Among other things.”

A beat of silence before you managed to say, “such as?”

He didn't answer, again. You sighed not being amused, running a hand through your tangled hair. Mud crusted the hem of your sleeve; your fingers were stiff. The world outside felt like it was still made of rain. But for now, the hut held.

You glanced at him—jaw shadowed with stubble, cloak collar damp, his sword hilt resting at his side like a limb. Kwon Soonyoung. The knight of the southern border, the man whose name you only learned when you'd already fled three nights’ worth of roads with him.

He wasn't a friend, not per se, or at least, yet. But not an enemy either.

The first time you saw him was on the border road, your skirts were still too fine for your path. Crimson silk, pearl-studded hem; stolen garments from a carriage you'd bribed your way into before ditching the wheels and running barefoot into the night.

You were breathless and desperate. And he stood on the bridge under the clear blue sky of dawn, unmoving like a statue carved from fate itself.

“Turn around,” he said, not even drawing his sword.

You stepped forward. “You don’t want to do this.”

He tilted his head. “No. But you were talking too much for someone on the run.”

You flinched from recognition; it wasn't made of fear. He knows.

“I won’t go back,” you said, hosting your voice thin as mist. “Even if it kills me.”

He regarded you for an uncomfortably long stretch of time, his gaze steady and unblinking, though, in truth, it was rare to see his eyes flutter at all. And then, to your astonishment, he shifted only a fraction just like that, a simple pivot of boot against stone, but it was enough to create a space through which you might pass. No bargain was struck. No conditions laid. No commands issued. There was only the sound of the wind altering its course through the trees, and the strange, almost imperceptible weight of a decision made by a man who spoke little but once carried orders that ended wars.

You stepped forward, cautiously, your breath caught in your throat like a trespass half-expecting the reprieve to snap shut like a trap around your ankles. But he moved behind you with his footfalls, deliberate and unhurried; neither threatening nor companionable, merely present.

And when, driven more by confusion than courage, you finally turned to ask what tethered him to your uncertain path, his reply came with the same restraint that marked all his actions: “Perhaps I am waiting to see how this ends.”

“You dreamt,” he informed you without warning, breaking the hush with the same low, even gravity that marked all his observations: never a question, always a statement. You looked up with the remnants of sleep still clinging to your thoughts. He adjusted his cloak. “You said something, in your sleep,” he continued, his gaze not really meeting yours. “Something about fire... and fate. And the color red.”

“Not red,” you corrected, as if naming it properly mattered. “Crimson.”

He studied you openly this time for a moment with that same unreadable stillness he wore like armor. “A name?” he asked at last.

You hesitantly answered, “A warning.”

The space between you seemed to draw in the silence. The rain outside, though muted by walls, seemed to press inward now. You remembered the dream, though already the edges have begun to fray. Images rose in flickers: a long corridor lined with mirrors that refused to show your face; a voice, disembodied and cold as wind across stone, whispering not prophecy, but verdict—One dies. One lives. One forgets. A prophecy spoken beneath an eclipse. You swallowed.

“I’ve heard those words before,” he said. “On the battlefield. Whispers from an old seer before the siege of Ilyra.”

“Do you believe it now?” you asked.

He gave no answer, but his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword as his jaw tightened. You took the clue. Even without words, you both knew what hung between you.

You had stopped by the river sometime near dusk, though the light beneath the trees was so uncertain it could have been any hour between afternoon and nightfall. Your feet raw from the ill-fitting boots you’d taken off a sleeping stablehand three villages back, throbbed with each step, and you’d finally surrendered to the pain, lowering yourself to a moss-slick rock with a hiss that escaped despite your resolve to remain quiet.

Soonyoung had settled himself across from you perched on the length of a fallen tree. The dagger in his grip caught the dim light as he dragged the whetstone down its edge with a nice rhythm. His expression was, as always, unreadable, carved from whatever discipline exile required.

“I’m not the kind of girl who believes in romance,” you had said then, not looking at him, as if the words might sound less like a confession if spoken to the water.

He didn’t look up saying, “good.”

“But if I were...” you ventured, testing the edge of something less guarded, “I’d want it to happen during a storm.”

This time, his hand paused just briefly enough to be noticeable if one was watching. The dagger stilled, and so did the air between you. He resumed the motion without haste. “You’ll regret saying that.”

There had been something in his tone which was dry, unflinching, but not unkind that made you smile despite yourself. It wasn’t a smile of victory or charm, only the soft foolish curve of someone who still believed they might unearth warmth where others had found only cold. “Why?” you asked, meaning it.

And that was when he truly met your eyes for the first time without the usual wall of disdain, without the carefully measured detachment he wore like chainmail. “Because storms end,” he said.

“If we survive this,” you turned toward him now, more serious than you meant to be, “if the prophecy doesn’t kill us, or the king’s men don’t find us… what then?”

He didn't look away, for once, he didn't avoid the weight of what you were asking. “Then I go back,” he said.

“To what?”

“To nothing.”

"And I?"

“That depends on whether you still believe you’re meant to run.”

What followed was not merely silence, but thick with all that remained unsaid between you, brimming with the weight of choices half-made and truths withheld out of mercy or pride.

Without a word, he reached for the cloak and drew it around you both once more. There wasn't much warmth left in it, but it was something. And so, you realized, was he.

You allowed your head to rest just beside his shoulder. He did not shift away or speak.

And in that space of lull that came before action and decisions had to be named aloud, you found yourself wondering, if sonder was truly enough. To glimpse the infinite in someone else and, despite it all, still choose to stay.

⌦ ⚔️ © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

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everyonesfinaldestination · 7 months ago

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This is what song's i think (in my opinion) fits the tokyo debunker characters. All songs are from my Spotify playlists

We starting with....

🎰Sinostra🎰 (bc rn I'm in love with tiaga)

Tiaga Hoshibami: Shutter island by Jessie Reyez

Romeo Lucci: Bitch better have my money by Rihanna

Ritsu Shinjo: Toms Diner by AnnenMayKantereit, Giant Rooks

❄️Frosthiem❄️

Jin Kamurai: Rain by Grandson, Jessie Reyez

Tohma Ishibashi: Mind Games by sickick

Lucas Errant: Diet Mountain Dew by Lana Del Ray

Kaito Fuji: Bitchboy by The Oozes (i love him i swear😭❤️)

👊Vagastrom👊

Alan Mido: Monster by MILCK

Leo Kurosagi: Little boy by Ashnikko

Sho Haizono: Absence by Rio Romeo

🍃Jabberwock🍃

Haru Sugara: Strawberry shortcake by Melanie Martinez

Towa Otonashi: Siren by Kailee Morgue

Ren Shiranami: Vicinity of obscenity by System of a down

🍡Hotarubi🍡

Subaru Kagami: Hostage by Billie Eilish

Haku Kusanagi: What you heard by Sonder

Zenji Kotodama: How I'd kill by Cowboy Malfoy

👻Obscuary👻

Edward Hart: Sex with a ghost by teddy Hyde

Rui Mizuki: Mr. Sandman by SYML

Lyca Colt: BLAME IT ON THE KIDS by AViVA

⚕️Mortkranken⚕️

Yuri Isami: Mx. Sinister by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Jiro Kirisaki: Ur a Zombie by Jessie Paege

⭐️Bonus⭐️

Dante: Dead but pretty by IC3PEAK

Hyde: Teachers pet by Melanie Martinez (or Daddy's home by usher😌❤️)

Nicolas: Happy pills by Weathers

Benkei: Honeypie by JAWNY

Taiga, Edward, Jin, tohma, Jiro, Hyde, and Alan: Nervous by Torii wolf...this songs stuck in my head😌🥹

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sonderden · 9 months ago

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Life, aiming a loaded crossbow at me: I'm sorry. You were involved in the decisions that led to this, but you can't know whether they're worth it until everything is done. This is the first step. Endure it as best you can.

Me, shot with the crossbow bolt: [looks down and sees a label tied to the bolt that reads "metaphor for stressful situation"] Ow. Thanks for the warning, I guess? At least it's the only thing I'm getting shot with for a good while.

Life, reloading several bolts into the crossbow at once: Have you ever heard of speed shooting?

Me: I want it to be known that I resent this.

Life: Noted. [shoots me multiple times in quick succession]

Me, on the floor and stuck full of crossbow bolts all over my body: Recovering from this is gonna suck.

#sonder speaks #personal post #I'm trying to joke about my stress #but I did in fact get so stressed that it triggered a seizure #and then my immune system was so compromised from the stress and seizure that I'm now sick #and those are just the incidental health side effects of the stress itself #the situations have been numerous and covered a wide range of severity #the first crossbow bolt was my family deciding to move states and realizing the timeline will be very very short #the next was one of my budgies dying #then my dad having a week+ long dramatic panic attack meltdown about the move #he's past the worst of the meltdown itself but the deep deep fear is still an issue and a stressor #then it was my mom and sister panicking over making things work #then it was my seizure and being in the ER right up until it was time to catch a flight #then stress over helping to find the rught house while knowing none of them will satisfy the fear of my dad #but most of them will fit the criteria for which we originally chose to move #and then the dog we inherited from my grandma -- who's never bonded with anyone but me and never that deeply with me #who was in the shelter for a day and then retrieved and who I defended when other family members wanted her returned --#she growled at my 6 month old niece and nobody is bonded enough with her to train her to be gentle with a baby or toddler #she's a risk to my niece so she had to go back to the shelter and I'm a lot sadder and more stressed about it than I expected #I even cried and I don't cry over anything not even the deaths of grandparents or pets #and it's looking like I might have diabetes too but I can't get my labs done to find out for sure until I'm not sick #and the crossbow just keeps being fired at me #I know others are more stresed over more and bigger things #but I am so sick of these crossbow bolts #I want to be done with these #I want my stress levels down

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en8y · 2 years ago

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fireglyphiverer: a gender connected to being a fire glyph discoverer; this gender is connected to the fire glyph, glyph magic, fire aesthetics, discovery aesthetics, discoverer aesthetics, and being sonderous!

revefireglyphic: a gender connected to being a fire glyph revealer; this gender is connected to the fire glyph, glyph magic, fire aesthetics, revealer aesthetics, and sondenhood.

findefireglyphic: a gender connected to being a fire glyph finder; this gender is connected to the fire glyph, glyph magic, fire aesthetics, finding aesthetics, finder aesthetics, and roushood!

[IMAGE ID: three horizontal flags with nine stripes; each flag has the fire glyph in the center. the fire glyph is an off-yellow with a soft, bright orange outline. the middle stripe is twice as large as the rest of them, which are equally sized. the first flag has these top three colors: warm medium brown, warm light brown, and peach. the second flag has these top three colors: dark grey, dull cool purple, and dull pink. the third flag has these top three colors: dark warm purple, medium warm purple, and cool bright purple. each flag has these bottom six stripes: bright golden yellow, off-white, bright golden yellow, light yellow, light orange, and bright orange. END ID.]

@radiomogai @liom-archive @obscurian @page-2-ids

#fireglyphiverer #revefireglyphic #findefireglyphic #discoverer system #revealer system #finder system #fire glyph #sonderous #mogai gender #mogai coining #gender coining #tech.png

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tojivu · 2 years ago

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# SOBER UP ‣ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

✰ — author’s note should this be considered a shtpost LOL

✰ — playing mad riches by sonder .

✰ — cw / tags mentions of alcohol , comfort and fluff , f!reader , college au , ex boyfriend + situationship megumi , idk if i made him seem like a red flag here but idc… #megumiapologist

✰ — word count 1.7k

MEGUMI , who tags along when his friends go drinking at a bar nearby your campus and has an alcohol tolerance higher than everyone in the room, combined.

this man does not play when it comes to drinking games. honestly, he would not be interested in playing at all if not for yuji egging him on—any chance to prove himself will not go wasted, especially when it’s his own best friend doubting his ability.

you’re playing along, after yuji had pestered your friends to join in—you took one for the team and decided to go with it. truth or drink: two options, it would be an easy feat. just pick truth every time.

everyone is gathered around the large table at the centre of the establishment, glasses in hand. megumi is across from you, blank expression worn—he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the occasion, but he's partaking anyway. his arms are crossed, eyes locked on the surface of the table. you had hoped to speak to him tonight, but it seemed like you wouldn't be able to.

you’re swirling your glass around, generating a whirlpool in your drink—waiting for yuji to move on from asking nonsensical questions and to let the night get more exciting. he seems to be the life of the party, people often picking him to answer their queries: it’s a horrible time to be popular, because he soon excuses himself after a few glasses.

it’s that way with everyone in the group, with every popular student getting picked in order—eventually, it’s just you, megumi, and 3 other people.

“y/n.” an unfamiliar voice calls your name, one belonging to a boy you’ve never seen before. “truth or drink?”

“truth.” you respond, wanting to last as long as possible: not taking a sip until it was absolutely necessary. your apartment was quite a long way from where you were: a long cab ride with an intoxicated system didn’t sound appealing at all. you hoped it wouldn’t be too scandalous of a question, after all, not many people knew you personally—so they didn’t have much to ask.

“anyone here. . . you don’t mind going on a date with?”

that was a stupid question. your college was full of teenage-minded boys who didn't think twice before doing anything. nobody was serious enough for your taste, and regretfully so: you're unable to answer the question and you take a shot.

MEGUMI , who glares at you, despondently, from athwart the table because you didn't answer the question with his name. he exhales, eyebrows furrowing and the grip on his cup tightening. it was unfair of him to expect a response with his name—after what had happened.

fushiguro and you were a complicated pair. many have heard of you two and yet knew so little: you've dated him in the past and things were on and off since then. yet, people pretend they don't see you slipping out of his dorm as soon as the sun rises, and that they don't see him staring daggers into any man that speaks to you.

sure, you two would have your flings—each time swearing it was the last. you knew it wasn’t right, but if nobody uttered any ‘i love you’s, what was the real harm?

just a week ago, an argument ensued between the two of you. he was yelling about how he had too many classes and couldn't see you, and you were saying how he should've tried anyway.

he reminded you that night that you two weren't together anymore, and off you went; out his door and no calls returned.

megumi knew you were angry when you didn't bother scolding him via text, as you usually would, but he knew you were livid when you didn't bother thinking of your answer—instead chugging your glass.

your giggles get louder, and your head dizzier. you're holding onto the chair behind you, and megumi is pissed off with the way your friends are more concerned with taking pictures than looking out for you.

the circle remains, with the same boy picking you to answer his inappropriate questions regarding your love life. megumi is concerned with how much alcohol is entering your system. he's standing up straight now, worried that you'll black out any moment—he knew better than anyone that you couldn't hold your liquor. he can't help but blame the guy picking on you; you seemed to be stuttering and yet he didn't stop.

"you know what," he walks around the table and grabs the empty cup from your hands. "this is dangerous. you can't handle liquor."

you're stumbling over your own feet as you try to retrieve your cup from megumi, who's raising it over his head and out of your reach.

"'gumi . . ."

your words are slurred and your face is flushed red. your hands try to reach up, but come down to his chest as you almost fall on top of him. megumi is concerned, but his face shows annoyance; he places the cup down and slithers his arm around your waist to support you.

it's been a long while since you called him that, or any nickname at all. something stirs in his chest, it was something about his nickname leaving your lips—he can't help but stare at them, so that's precisely what he does.

"i'm taking you home."

you whine, but your uncoordinated self is unable to fight the strong arms that pull you out of the bar, away from the crowd and onto the pavement outside.

you're hitting megumi's chest while babbling nonstop about how much of a party pooper he is. the look on his face appears nonchalant—your ex couldn't care less about ruining the fun. he cared about you, and the least he could do was make sure you got home safe.

"you're always like this, 'gumi . . ." you hit his chest again, your head buried in the crook of his neck. your breath against his skin tickles, shuddering when you say his name. "always . . . ruining the fun."

megumi's attempts at hailing a cab render useless, and public transport had their last journey an hour ago. you complain about your heels to him, with a pout that makes him weak in the knees.

"your shoes . . . so comfy."

he swears under his breath because no other girl could embarass him like this. megumi walks with you, your gleaming heels in his hands and his socks getting torn by the harsh asphalt. he hates being barefoot—but you're treading the path happily, wearing his sneakers—so he thinks it's bearable, just for a short while.

MEGUMI , who takes you to a convenience store close by and buys you two bottles of water, hoping you could sober up a little.

it's 2 in the morning and you're sitting on a bench outside of a 7-11 with your ex boyfriend, who you can't help but stare at. he looks unusually handsome, you think, just a little bit more than usual. you feel like your first year self pining over him all over again, but this time, he's much closer.

you remember the fight a week ago and you're brought back to reality of what it was. megumi hit you cold and hard with the truth, and you find yourself shifting your gaze to the empty bottle of water at your feet.

you hear megumi's breath hitch a few times, almost as if he was meaning to say something—but you didn't know if you would want to hear it, after everything that had unfolded between you two.

"just say it, megumi." you blurt out, thinking there was no point in keeping things unsaid. you were annoyed with the way he would turn back and forth between you and the road.

he's not certain if he's glad to hear you say his full name, at least you're sober—but he hates the fact that you don't say megumi like you say gumi.

"i still love you, y/n." megumi mumbles.

you look at him, your eyes immediately noticing his staring at you before you even turned your head. you get up from the bench, unable to make sense of what he just said: apologies quickly leave your mouth and you're power walking away.

MEGUMI , who trails behind you, asking you to wait—he had your heels, and those were his shoes on your feet.

nothing changes until you arrive at your front door. you're completely sober thanks to the water megumi forced you to chug, and he’s behind you. you turn from the door to face him, and your stubbornness is suddenly dissipating.

your heels are still in his hands and his socks are completely torn.

"yeah, this is your fault."

you roll your eyes. "i did nothing."

megumi scoffs, looking down at the floor. he's not sure what to say to make this any less awkward—he's already spoken his mind.

"just come in, 'gumi. i've had enough of your complaining."

his eyes light up when you say the two syllable word. he takes his socks off in milliseconds, leaving your heels outside and letting himself be pulled by the sleeve into your apartment.

MEGUMI , who wakes up in your bed with his arm around the small of your back, keeping you close to him—sunlight is spilling in through the gaps of your curtains. it’s shining on his chest and subsequently, you: your head is laid on his bare chest, your legs resting on top of his. your breath is warm against his skin, your left arm hugging him tight around the waist.

your breathing is calm and slow, but it comes to a brief stop when you wake up soon after him. you yawn, head throbbing, but it doesn't stop you from looking up at fushiguro—who's been staring at you for awhile.

"we might as well just get back together."

megumi thought you were kidding, after you had just run away from him after his confession the night before: but you were everything but a joker.

he runs his fingers through your hair, before sighing softly.

"that's not a bad idea."

his fingers playing with your hair was lulling you back to sleep, along with the warmth of skin to skin contact and a voice that seemed as smooth as velvet. there wasn't much time before your headache and him combined knocked you out.

". . . i love you, 'gumi.” is all you manage to say before closing your eyes, allowing fushiguro to savour the words in private as you slept soundly.

he was thankful that you were exhausted—the red on his cheeks was much too embarrassing to be seen.

201023 — hello … new layout what do u guys think ? (　ﾟдﾟ)

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thewinter-eden · 5 days ago

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Screaming That You're Mine | KYS

Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female OC Genre: romance, mature, horror, crime, paranormal Tropes: roommate au, childhood best friends, friends to lovers, slow burn

Summary: Madden Radley is a host of a true crime channel, currently working on the biggest story of her career. While her roommate and childhood best friend Kang Yeosang is her ultimate support system, she can’t help but notice that as her work life begins to take a toll, her personal life takes a turn for the weirder.

Notes: I miss writing Yeosang, so…this is coming in celebration of the In Your Fantasy release. I’m re-writing my psychology - and by that I mean writing in 3rd person again.

Words: ~5k

Recommended reading before this: Psycho | Han Jisung (not necessary but will be illuminating).

master list

“Alright who did this?”

Yang Jeongin’s eyes lift slowly from the detrimentally bright shine of his laptop screen to squint through the dim room at his colleague. He slides one side of his headphones off his ear with two fingers just in time to hear a staff writer scramble up from her seat behind him, a number of pens and papers falling to the floor.

“Dami?”

The staff writer clears her throat, coughing past a mouthful of pretzels, the only thing she’s eaten in four hours since planting herself at her desk with a red pen and a stack of pages that make up the script for the next talk show episode. “I know what you’re about to say—”

Jeongin leans back in his chair to watch the expression on his colleague’s face sink into dark disapproval.

Madden Radley, founder and co-host of Stygian Sonder, a weekly talk show that reports on crime and the macabre, stands in the doorway of her office with a similar packet clutched in her hands. Her glare slides to Jeongin. “Have you seen this censored bullshit? It’s not like we have family ratings. Somebody’s red ass pen is bleeding ‘E for Everyone’ all over my pages.”

Jeongin pushes his headphones down to hang around his neck, abandoning his own final research notes for tomorrow’s episode. He’s been waiting for this predictable explosion for about an hour and a half. “Did you read the whole thing?”

She pauses, a loaded rant stilling on her tongue. Her eyes trace the next few lines, but flicker back to him without enlightenment. “I have three pages left. Why?”

“They removed the entire interview footage with Naeyoung.”

Behind him, Dami scrambles to explain before she finds her head on the chopping block, breathlessly chasing the papers she dropped. “It wasn’t my idea. Mr. Bang said this episode was too dark with all the language and the last interview. He said it would be bad for ratings.”

Madden is already halfway out of the room, heels slamming against the tile floor vindictively. “Go home, Dami. Get dinner. Thanks for your work today.” She pauses to snatch a pen off the floor and press it into the staff writer’s hands.

Dami sags into her chair the moment the woman storms out the room. “Oh my god, my heart is pounding.”

Jeongin just scoots himself back up to his laptop, shaking his head and reaching for his headphones again. “You’ll get used to her.”

“Gotta keep my head down.” Dami mutters, scraping up the rest of the scattered pages. “I’ll apologize when she comes back. God, do you think she’ll fire me?”

Jeongin spins his chair, irritated by the continued distraction from his work, but taking pity on the newest member of their writing team. He wheels closer, picking up a handful of discarded notes, and holds them out to her.

The poor woman’s eyes are brimming with tears, hands shaking and feet tripping over each other.

“Don’t.” He says simply. “Just do your work. You’ll get farther with her by standing behind what you do. She’s not gonna bite your head off. Like I said, you’ll get used to her.”

Dami yanks the notes from him and nearly drops them all over again. “Does she yell at us a lot?”

Jeongin turns his chair away. “She’s not especially aware of how loud she is. Go home, Dami.”

“Shit, I’m so screwed.”

Heads pop up from behind cubicles as Madden strides heatedly through the main bullpen of the eighth floor. The long windows to one side look out on the city, shining with light against the dark sky.

She gets a few tired waves, a few grim smiles, and one bleary yawn. The day before an episode, particularly a premier episode, means long nights and gallons of coffee for everyone.

She’s too focused to spare any pleasantries, a demeanor that her colleagues are well-used to. She narrowly escapes a head on collision with someone coming out of the copy room, and mutters a distracted apology.

“Red pen again?” The weary editor guesses as she blazes past.

“Goddamn red pen.” Madden confirms, lifting a hand in a retreating wave. “Have a good night, Seungmin.”

“See you in the morning,” he calls back, and then he’s just another faceless member of the staff exodus cleaning up their desks and headed for home.

The office of Producer Bang Chan is at the end of the hall near the elevator, door open as it always is, soft lo-fi thrumming from within.

She hears voices before she reaches the threshold, stepping in to see the entire team of producers seated at Chan’s conference table, bent over half a dozen laptops and a dozen takeout cartons from dinner.

“Yep, here she is. Told you.” Chan leans back in his chair and braces himself for the inevitable. “Madden, before you start—”

She smacks the creased packet down on the table, upsetting an empty carton and pair of dirty chopsticks.

The woman whose garbage she’d offended flinches and reaches to right the flung objects. “Really, Madden, do you mind?”

“Do you mind?” Madden fires back, planting her palm firmly on the stapled stack of papers. “Half of my script is gone.”

Chan blinks at her, unimpressed. “You realize we wouldn’t have this issue if you didn’t actually script all of your obscenities? You could have left them out and ad libbed them in filming.”

“Do you realize that the only way I can get through the tedious process of scripting my work is to let the commentary flow?”

“You have to write scripts.” The producer who’s still holding the chopsticks, Lena, frowns up at her. “We can’t keep all the necessary documentation for the episodes if it doesn’t include a script.”

“The ratings were better before you started making us do this.”

“The ratings are why we’re running edits.” Chan corrects. “You have the freedom to use your preferred vernacular. It just looks better for the streaming network if we say we tried to tone it down.”

Madden crosses her arms with a glare. “Then why did you cut my interview?”

Chan closes his laptop and slides it into a protective case. “The interview is too heavy for the introduction. We’ve got five episodes on this story. We can get to it after the opener.”

Another producer, Ryan, lifts a hand to calm the seething outburst that’s building on Madden’s tongue. “No one is trying to pick and choose the facts here. We’re worried about timing. We want to hook viewers tomorrow, not turn them off their lunch. Once the sponsors see that we’re telling an important story and not going for shock value, we’ll be free to tell it the way we need to.”

Another, Jae, nods agreeably and chucks a water bottle into a nearby waste bin. “We can’t put out anything if they drop our contract or cancel the show. We have to play their game to win, Madden.”

The glare she sends him has him sighing regretfully. “I understand the red tape. I don’t appreciate the alterations you chose to hit me with at the last minute. You think I don’t know you’re backing me into a corner here? This was my show. Mine and Jeongin’s. We put out good series when we’re allowed to do it our way.”

Chan rests his elbows on the table and levels her with a solemn stare that informs her that she won’t be making any headway on this. “That’s why we picked you up. The show was successful then, and it’s going to continue to be successful now. Let us work the field with the sponsors and the network. Everything we do is to keep you online. Don’t fight this.”

She’s quiet, seething, thinking. Exhaustion from three straight days of organizing information for this series has worn on the entire team, and she’s no exception. The edits always come. The alterations always slide in before the cameras roll. The script always changes.

Sitting down to find thirty red strikes through her hard work at the end of the final day had not been how she had hoped to finish off the evening.

As the frayed edges of her concentration scrape acceptance of their reasons into her head, she lets the frustration seep out of her one breath at a time. “I’m using all of my material for this.” She utters firmly, weariness creeping into her tone. “I don’t care how dark it is. It’s a dark fucking story. These people went through this shit—I’m not going to insult the survivors by softening the blow to make viewers comfortable.”

“We’re not asking you to.” Jae says. “We’re just asking for a lighter intro. It’s syllabus day, Maddie. We’re just saving the punches for the ones who stick around to take them.”

The apartment is warm and bright when Madden wriggles her key out of the lock and drops her bag on the hall table. It smells like microwaved chicken and rice, the familiar aroma of home, and as the door clicks shut behind her, she does her best to leave her day on the rug.

Somewhere down the hall, a bedroom door cracks open and quiet music floats to her ears. She’s in the kitchen when her roommate shuffles in, seating himself at the breakfast counter and watching her dig through the refrigerator for leftovers.

“Rough day?”

The low, kind voice touches her ears with a rush of warmth.

Madden steps back from the cooler, leaning back against the door with a Tupperware in hand. “Just the usual ‘final touches’ bullshit.” She responds with a wry smile. “How was your day, Sang-ah?”

Yeosang brings his hands together on the counter. He looks comfortable, freshly showered and dressed in pajamas, dark hair falling in damp tendrils around his cheeks. He offers a sympathetic smile. “They’re trying to silence you again?”

It’s mostly a joke, a compassionate recognition of her aversion to being edited.

Madden tucks all of her irritation firmly into a locked compartment in the back of her mind and puts her dinner into the air fryer to reheat. “They can try, poor suckers.” Her smile is fond when she turns back to her childhood friend.

She and Yeosang have known each other since long before his trainee days, long before high school. The arrangement to move in together when they both started their careers fell into their laps one day and has worked with copacetic comfort ever since.

The apartment is nearly always bustling with members of his idol group and her talk show group, keeping them connected even through the boundaries of vastly different vocations, and peacefully quiet when night descends.

Just the way they like it.

To the tune of the low hum of the air fryer, Madden leans over the bar across from him and utters a decompressing sigh. “What about you, Yeos, how was your Friday?”

He shrugs blithely, tapping his fingers on the counter in the space between them. “Pretty calm. I met up with the guys to go over our schedules for the next few weeks, went to the gym, hung out at home. Looks like it’s going to be kind of chill for the next little bit, what about you?”

She draws her own shoulders up in a responding shrug. “Mine’s busy. I have a photoshoot for my brand deal, hence the hair.” She fluffs a hand playfully through the curled bob that has been dyed a vibrant pink. “Then a dinner with sponsors on DAY, and then an awards dinner on DAY. Plus a couple of other things that I don’t remember right now. God, I need to sleep.”

His eyes trace the new color and day-old style of her hair. “It’s nice, I like it. It looks good on you.”

She takes his compliment with a pleased smile. “You think? I like it too. Didn’t think I would.”

Yeosang’s eyes widen in earnest. “It’s pretty. I think pink is your color.”

Madden drags a hand through the strands that are crunchy with hair spray and sags against the counter tiredly. “Imagine if you still wore yours green. We’d look like a watermelon.”

He laughs softly at the visual, pulling a few locks of his own black hair in front of his eyes to see the state of his most recent dye job. “I’m boring right now, but I like it.” He puts his hands back down between them, head cocked to meet her gaze when she presses her cheek to the cool surface of the countertop. “You’ve been busy these past few weeks. And an awards dinner? Mads, that’s amazing. We should celebrate.”

She shakes her head dismissively. “It’s all internal, between a couple of different labels. We’re up for like production value and best editing and I think visual effects. It’s definitely cool, but it’s not a huge deal.”

“That’s a big deal. I still think we should celebrate. Plus you finally got the green light on this huge story, and your brand deal —you’re killing it, Mads.”

“It’s killing me.” She teases lightly. “But thank you. We can get a drink or something at our dinner tomorrow, if you’re still available for that.”

They always go to dinner on Saturday nights after the filming of an episode. It’s a long standing tradition, dating back to her early and embarrassing days of camcorders and a YouTube channel with thirty viewers.

“Of course I am.” He assures her brightly. “I wouldn’t miss it. And I was thinking we should go to that new place. The fancy one that Yunho told us about. I already called about a reservation, but we can change it if you want to save it for later and do something else.”

Madden’s stomach grumbles at the thought, but it may also have something to do with the smell of her leftovers now filling the kitchen. “That sounds great. I’d love that.”

He grins with a triumphant nod. “Perfect. I’m excited. And I’m excited to see your first episode. I’m proud of you, Mads.”

Just like that, every ounce of frustration from work falls off her shoulders and is replaced by the serenity of Yeosang’s enduring support. “Couldn’t do this without you, Sang-ah. You’re my rock.” She pats his hand in a single stroke of overabundant fondness, and smiles at the shy smile that he directs to the counter.

When the air fryer dings and she steps away to collect her dinner, he leans comfortably on his forearms. “I’ll help you run lines tonight.”

Madden digs a fork out of the drawer with a grateful smile. “That would be awesome. Let me eat and shower first.”

He nods and scoots his chair back. “Just come get me when you’re ready. I’m gaming with Yunho, but you can interrupt me whenever.”

“You sure?” Her gaze follows him towards his room, eyebrows lifted in question.

Yeosang nods easily. “It’s a chill game. We’re battling it out tomorrow though, so if you text me during filming I might be distracted.”

Madden waves her fingers dismissively. “No worries. Have fun.”

As he disappears back into his bedroom, she sinks into a chair at the dinner table with a heavy sigh. Tomorrow will come with a cramped schedule and a hundred retakes, but when it’s over, her latest series will be off the ground and running.

It’s a good feeling.

After a shower, Madden sits herself on the couch across from Yeosang, her laptop balanced on her knees and her crumpled script pages on his. He scans the notes and strikes with an eyebrow quirked. “This is worse than last time.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, the edits. They really marked you up this time.” He shows you the first page, riddled with red slashes. “You know you could just pretend you’re not gonna make their ears bleed.”

Madden smirks wryly, rolling her eyes. “That’s what Chan said. I write the way I speak. I can’t help it.”

He flips through the stapled pages. “I can’t believe you finally got this story. It’s been what, three years that you’ve been after it?”

Three and a half years. The story had been on her mind for longer, obviously, as covering it had been the reason she and Jeongin had started their original channel in the first place. The magnitude of it had caused her to keep putting it off. She’d spent nearly a decade gathering information, doing research, making sure she had every possible scrap of data available on it.

It’s too big, too important to risk leaving anything out.

And even now, having only six episodes to bring it to fruition seems like far too little screen time to include everything.

Madden and Jeongin had avoided it for a number of reasons. They didn’t have enough followers when they first started to have the impact she wanted. Their equipment wasn’t good enough. Their screen presence wasn’t engaging enough. Their editing wasn’t professional enough.

For the longest time, nothing they did was good enough to do it justice.

So they did their best with other stories, more popular criminal cases and early historical events that other journalists and channels had done a hundred times—things to give them experience and practice.

Now, since she and Jeongin have been signed to an actual production label, getting contracts with streaming platforms, given professional teams of producers and writers and editors, she finally reached a level of readiness.

When she and Jeongin first approached Chan with the case three years ago, they were shot down immediately.

They were too new to the label. The case was too obscure. It was recent enough to still make the authorities and investigators involved look bad. It meant hot water for the company.

So they took the safe cases that they were given, and kept submitting proposals.

Finally, after three years of asking, after five years in total under the label, they had enough factors lined up to get the stamp of approval.

Survivors and family members agreed to tell their sides of the story. Interest in the case has risen among viewers. Even the city where the case occurred agreed to make evidence and records accessible.

Chan and the other producers had to agree. They pushed it on to the sponsors, to the board. They fought for it.

And then, finally, two months ago, the approval landed on Madden and Jeongin’s desks.

The story was theirs.

After nearly twelve years.

And the pressure of it after so much anticipation is all but crippling.

“It’s terrifying,” She says quietly, scrolling through the notes on her computer. Files upon files of testimonies, court records, public records and released records, maps, victim profiles. They’ve been weighing down her hard drive for years.

But Yeosang misunderstands. His gaze is locked on the words that outline the introductory episode, mouth turned down with distaste. “It really is. This is horrible. I can’t believe this actually happened.”

Madden doesn’t correct him. Because the gravity of what actually happened to all those people is infinitely more important than the nerves she has over telling the story.

They’re not the first people to ever bring the story to the public, of course. It’s been in the papers from the conclusion of the case, littered over the web since the advent of the internet, on bookstore shelves and magazine covers for decades.

But now, for the first time in history, Stygian Sonder has documents previously off limits to the public. They have new interviews from the survivors and families. They have the truth of the investigators’ negligence, a side of the story that has been obscured and sealed since the 1940s.

“These women who spoke to you—” Yeosang glances up at his roommate cautiously. “They’ve gotta be a hundred years old by now.”

“There were two still alive,” Madden says. “One of them nearly a hundred. One of them older. We weren’t inclined to dredge up all of this for them all over again, so we reached out to the families to see if we could speak to later generations about what they’d heard from the ladies who had survived. But as soon as we did, both of them wanted to be involved. We assured them it wasn’t necessary, of course, but it was important to them.”

“That’s amazing.” He mutters. “Imagine being so young, thinking their lives were gonna end down there, and here they are, celebrating a hundred years. God, that’s incredible.” He pulls one knee up under him. “Alright, let’s do this. You ready?”

Yeosang helps her go over the materials for the better part of two hours. They don’t worry so much about the memorization of the script word for word, as the conversations between her and Jeongin tend to divert and flow more naturally once the cameras start running.

They work through the outline. He asks her questions based on the information in the pages, and she recites answers like she’s studying for a test. He mentions details she may have missed, facts she may forget in the moment.

He’s heard parts of the story before. Living with her for so long, watching her studious pursuit of the case, he’s picked up quite a bit of it over the years.

Despite his familiarity with the story, hearing the pieces all come together in a comprehensive timeline soon has him frowning.

It’s heavy.

It’s tragic.

It’s a side of humanity that most people never explore.

When they wrap up for the night, he’s bent over in thought, brows furrowed. “I can’t believe this actually happened.” Yeosang slides the pages off his lap to rest on the couch cushion beside him. “Even just researching it to the extent that you have must be…I mean, you have to go to such a dark place to understand the events as they happened.”

Madden closes her laptop. “Honestly, I kept waiting to get used to it. I thought that one of these days I would have become so accustomed to it that it would be just another history paper.” She works her hair, now dry, into a braid and fastens it with a sigh. “But it never did. It just gets worse, the more you look into it. And once I actually met the survivors and talked to their families, and the families of the ones who have passed, it’s just become darker.”

He straightens, scanning her carefully.

She brings her work home with her all the time. There’s never been a clear boundary between her personal interests as the work that she does. More often than not, they’re one and the same.

But she rarely carries it home on her shoulders.

And he knows why. She’s too aware of the darkness she uncovers to be careless with it with him. Murder and neglect and abuse are woven into the threads of her life. She’s always researching, always writing, always examining the facts of horrible things and creating reports to share with her audience.

It takes a toll. True crime is a genre that many people can’t handle, too weighed down by the despair of things that occurred outside the safety of their homes. She’s aware of the impact it could have on him to hear about it every night at dinner, to only see wretched documentaries on her tv, to hear court proceedings play on a speaker while she showers.

So she bears that weight upon herself, and turns down the volume as soon as she walks through the door. No matter how miserable the day or the case, she greets Yeosang with a smile.

Her day is always ‘oh, more of the same!’ Or ‘it was pretty good, Yeos, how was yours?’

The documentaries stay on her laptop, screen turned away from her open door, tv playing upbeat pop music so when he walks by to get to the bathroom or peeks in to ask what she wants to do for dinner, he’s hit with a warm atmosphere.

If he’s home when she showers, she plays old episodes of Scooby Doo on her phone, loud and ridiculous. She saves the podcasts and true crime YouTube channel showers for his late nights at the studio.

It took him a long time to realize what she was hiding from him, and even longer to realize that she wasn’t embarrassed by some stereotypical obsession, but protecting him.

No matter how much he tried to convince her that he didn’t mind the movies and biographies, that she can turn them up in the kitchen while she cooks or that she doesn’t have to switch the tv to his favorite anime as soon as he comes into the living room, she never stops reaching for the dial.

She’s so good at putting sunny, colorful, silly masks on top of the dreadfulness she consumes every day that sometimes he forgets to ask her if it’s started to consume her back.

“How are you doing with this?” He lays his hands over his knees, long, slender fingers stretching once. He touches his thumbs over the lowest knuckle of each finger, popping the joints with soft cracks that he doesn’t even hear anymore.

The mask slides back into place. Madden places her computer on the floor, like she’s pushing an erotic novel under the couch before her mom catches her with it. She beams at him, lips pushing so far to either side that her cheeks bunch under her eyes, and throws her legs up on the couch. “I’m excited to finally get it rolling.” She says in a bright tone, letting genuine anticipation carry her words to her ears.

She utters an obnoxiously loud yawn, stretching until her toes push against on arm rest and her fingertips tickle the other. The yawn fades with a playful squeal, as always. “Thank you for helping me tonight, I really appreciate it.”

He watches her routine movements studiously. They’re not tells in the way that a person might play with their hair or scratch their nose when the lie, but in the way that you might say the redness in your eyes is hay fever, or that your cheeks are ruddy because you’re feeling sick.

“If it’s too much, you can talk to me.” He tells her with a soft smile. He’s always nervous about trying to reach a side of her that she refuses to show him, especially when he’s not always sure that it’s actually there. Sometimes she’s just hiding a headache. Sometimes the story isn’t that heavy, and she’s just tired. Sometimes she’s smiling just to smile.

The mask never even flickers.

“I will, Sang-ah, thanks.” Madden rolls onto her side and scoots her spine back into the seam of the cushions, curling her knees to her chest. “Tell me about your work. How’s your solo coming?”

He used to think these questions were deflections. When he realized the cute mannerisms she puts on, like her raucous yawns and the little noises when she drops something, or the way she talks to inanimate objects like they’re tiny people who live to spite her, are just a costume for him to feel more comfortable, he experienced a period of uncertainty.

Maybe she only asked him questions about him to stop the questions about her.

Maybe she only expressed interest in his passions to distract him.

Maybe she only turned the conversation to his life to get his attention off the fact that she’s not opening up to him.

Those fears were soon abated when he started paying more attention.

She routinely clears her schedule to take him up on invitations to go out with the guys or to spend one of his days off hanging out. Every time Ateez puts out a video, she makes an event of dragging him to the couch with snacks and warm blankets to watch them with him.

If a new song releases, she texts him in the middle of her work day to rave about it as soon as she’s listened to it.

But, most telling, are the days when she takes off her headphones and leaves her room, work half unfinished, to sit in his floor and beg him to tell her what he’s working on, what he’s done that day, what he wants to do tomorrow.

Madden needs his interests. She needs his passions. She needs to turn the conversation to his life and hobbies and fears and difficulties. She needs to put herself in the background and focus on him.

It’s not the pop music or the childish cartoons or the cheesy mannerisms that keep her head above water.

So he tells her.

Every time she asks.

As much as he can think to say, he spills into the hopeful silence between them.

Even now, he pulls his eyes away from the box that he’s just noticed in the entryway of the apartment, labeled with some kind of evidence designator, to cast his mind over his progress with his solo song for their next album release.

He’ll ask about the box later.

She doesn’t need to think about it right now.

“It’s coming along.” Yeosang leans back in his chair and lets his shoulders relax. “I’m a little anxious about it, but Hongjoong is helping. I started working on the choreography recently.”

Her eyebrows lift in intrigue. “Can you tell me anything about it? The vibe? The theme? I’m dying to know.”

He pulls his lips tight in a cheeky grin and shakes his head.

She chucks a couch pillow at his head. “Cruel.”

He takes the blow, laughing, clutching it to his chest when it falls in his lap. “I want you to be surprised. I want to see your reaction when it’s finished.”

She pouts. A full, puckered bottom lip, doe-eyed pout. “Not even a teaser? You won’t play any of it for me? You could sing one line. Hum one bar. Give me something, Sang-ah, I’m starving.”

Yeosang sinks back into the cushions like he needs to put distance between them before she drags it out of him, baring his teeth in a stubborn grin. “Sorry. You’ve gotta wait.”

“Yeosang,” his name pulls from her throat in long, whining notes, with all the grace of a raw egg sliding off the edge of a counter.

An exhilarated laugh tumbles off his lips, poorly concealed delight sparking in his eyes. “You want to hear it that bad?”

She grips the edge of the couch, eyes widening. “Are you gonna show me?”

“No.”

She sags in defeat. “Maybe I’ll just steal your computer.”

“It’s password protected.”

“I’ll bribe Hongjoong.”

“He would die before spoiling even a single note.”

“I’ll bribe Wooyoung.”

“That’s why I haven’t showed him any of it either.”

“Dammit.”

The night winds down as the clock ticks to midnight, long after Madden should have retired in preparation for tomorrow. They say their good nights, a soft yawn and tired wave from him and a trilling salutation from her that makes him wince, and then their bedroom doors close to the darkness of the apartment.

Madden slips into bed, hugging the left side that is perfectly contoured to the shape of her body, and hugs a plush teddy bear to her chest.

Unable to sleep in silence, she plugs her phone in and turns on an audiobook, gothic and haunting, and turns the volume down low. The bedside lamp clicks off, a silk sleep mask slides over her eyes.

She sleeps like the dead.

to be continued

tag list: @ramadiiiisme @mrsminseochoi

#ateez #kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez x oc #kang yeosang x oc #yeosang x oc #ateez smut #ateez horror #yeosang smut #yeosang horror #kang yeosang smut #kang yeosang horror #yeosang legacy #in your fantasy #ateez fic #yeosang fic #kang yeosang fic

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karikarasuno · 3 months ago

Text

sonder ch. xi

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader x Levi Ackerman

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings/Tags: 50% Giggly Romance, 50% Raunchy Smut

song(s) for the chapter: when the rain starts by infinity song & silver lining by laufey

a/n: alright i had a bit too much fun writing the smut for this and it kinda got away from me. i'm only partially sorry for what i've done. pls find it in your hearts to forgive me<3

chapter x | chapter xi | epilogue

“Oh God,” you groaned, “I’m gonna throw up.”

Moblit laughed. Heartily. With no regard for your feelings. He laughed. It was honestly kind of rude how unhelpful he was being.

“Do you think anything through ever?” He asked, and you were surprised there weren’t tears streaming down his face. With how hard he was laughing at you.

“You’re being mean,” you whined, head falling to rest against his desk. You were so confident when you left their home yesterday. Practically skipping your way back to your own home. You replayed the kiss a billion times. Giddy. Giggling. Aroused. You slept. But barely. Because all you dreamt of was hands and lips and searing touches.

It was so nice and so unlike any feeling you have had in such a long time. You were riding a high that plummeted the second you walked into work and told Moblit how the rest of your weekend went after you bolted from the event.

And you didn’t realize that such a simple question, “What’re you gonna do?” would send you into an absolute spiral when you realized you had no idea.

“I’m sorry, but you’ve practically been dating for months now so if it makes you feel better you don’t have to try as hard to impress them,” Moblit responded once his fit of laughter subsided, but in fact his attempt to console you did not make you feel better.

“No because if I take them on a lame date then they’re going to think I’m lame,” you complained, overexaggerated but feeling it nonetheless.

“Not how that works, I fear,” he said with an accompanied eye roll. You knew he was right. Still, you couldn’t shake the unpleasant feeling of adolescent nerves from fluttering around your tummy. Levi and Erwin would love or enjoy anything you suggested, but you wanted to impress them. You wanted them to feel almost smitten with you. Selfishly, you wanted them to fall even harder for you. Maybe then you’d finally erase that tiny niggling sense of doubt that still hid somewhere within you.

“What did you and Hange do for your first date?” You asked, hoping to at least draw inspiration from him.

“Well,” he paused, shook his head and then chuckled. “Hange took me to the batting cages, but instead of hitting baseballs, they managed to have it shoot out various vegetables. Suffice to say, we were banned from there for life after that.”

“Of course they did something reckless and creative,” you grumbled, slouching into the chair as your brain searched and searched for something interesting to do.

“We were young and stupid,” Moblit reasoned.

“Oh so I’m old,” you argued.

“And smart,” he offered. You rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t think coming up with something romantic would be this difficult,” you sighed.

“Well at least you have the rest of the week to come up with something,” Moblit said, shrugging and continuing to be utterly unhelpful.

“Whatever. Let’s just get some lunch,” you stood up, anxiety growing a little in your chest. “Maybe if I'm full I’ll be able to focus better on planning something.”

“Maybe you should focus more on the fact that you’ll probably be getting laid this weekend.” You paled at his words. Somehow not thinking far ahead enough to realize that your date could very much end with the three of you in bed.

“Oh,” you said, the singular syllable heavy with apprehension.

“How exciting,” Moblit grinned impishly. Dread, excitement, and mostly, stunningly, intrigue began to flood your system.

That Friday Hange took you and Moblit out to lunch. Their treat. You knew, though, that they just wanted to pry. Surely, Moblit rehashed all the details to them about your upcoming date and they wanted more. They always wanted more information. But it was fine because for once you actually had something to offer.

“So,” they looked up at you over their glasses, eyes glinting with all the wickedness they could muster. You were just seated at this little sushi restaurant a few blocks from your office, somewhere you had never been, funnily enough.

“So?” you asked, trying your hardest to remain aloof, even though your insides were twisting with nerves and your skin was vibrating with anticipation.

“A little birdie told me you have a date tomorrow,” Hange leaned so hard against the table that it shifted closer to you, rattling the water glasses. Your hands shot out to grab yours to keep it from spilling as your eyes slid over to Moblit accusatory.

“Actually,” he started while grabbing his own water– a few drops having already spilt over the lip. “I wasn’t the little birdie this time.”

Moblit was suppressing a grin, a possibly shit-eating one. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion because aside from Moblit you hadn’t told anyone else about your date tomorrow.

“A certain someone stopped by the bar a few days ago to do some bookkeeping and spilled the beans,” Hange said, practically jumping on their side of the booth.

Your face screwed up even more, “Levi?”

This sent a tidal wave of shock through your system. Levi wasn’t the type to ‘spill the beans.’ He was the type to make sure all the beans were in the can, sealed, and placed on their designated shelf in the pantry.

“What did he say?” You were sure your eyes resembled saucers as you leaned into Hange, both of your bodies taking up too much space over the table. Moblit chuckled. You heard it but didn’t care.

“Just that you’re going out this weekend. On a date,” Hange shrugged, but you knew there was more to that. They were being too vague. Attempting to be too nonchalant. That was not their usual MO.

You squinted your eyes skeptically. Something was up.

“Hange,” you said, dropping your voice like you were trying to coax a secret from them. “At least tell me he’s not regretting it.”

They laughed. You couldn’t escape it. The laughter. First Moblit and now Hange. Maybe you were losing your mind.

“Regret it?!” The volume of their voice traveled out of your booth and across the small restaurant. It was still mostly vacant since you arrived before the typical lunch rush so when you looked over at the hostess who was eyeing your table weirdly you felt hot embarrassment settling around your neck.

“Babe,” Moblit chastised, planting a hand on their shoulder to settle them down.

“Sorry,” Hange apologized, bangs swinging furiously over their glasses as they shook their head with amusement. “It’s just you’re so silly.”

Your jaw dropped to argue but nothing came out.

“I mean, no he doesn’t regret it. Honestly, he’s kinda freaking out,” Hange explained.

“About?” You were getting antsy in your seat, not knowing what to expect.

“Well,” Hanged paused, looking over at Moblit who tucked his lips into his mouth like he was trying to hide a smile. They must love torturing you. Fucking sadists.

“It’s just that it’s been a really long time since Levi’s been with a woman.” They shrugged again, sipping their water.

“And?” Your brows furrowed, head tilting to the side like a dog. You weren’t sure why that mattered.

“You know,” they waved their hands around. You glanced at Moblit who was pointedly looking away from you, his gaze staring rather intently at the menu in front of him. “The hardware is different.”

They motioned ambiguously under the table. Your eyes tracked the motion and when realization struck your hand rose to cover your mouth and your eyes widened.

“Oh!” There was no way you could have stopped the giggles from shaking your shoulders and spilling from your lips. Your cheeks were warm now. And you dropped your face into your hands to regain composure. But it was hard. You heard Hange’s laugh from across the table. Soon followed by a chuckle from Moblit.

The waiter came then– in the midst of your fit. So you had to quickly reel it in and order the first sushi roll you saw on the lunch menu. Your appetite for food suddenly gone. When the waiter was through getting your orders and collecting the menus, you had to take a deep breath before breaching the conversation again.

It made sense for him to be nervous, but the thought never even crossed your mind. Which made you feel bad.

“He’s just a little worried about pleasing you is all,” Hange tried to salvage whatever they could. “It’s cute!”

You were just shocked. More so by the fact that Levi seemed to open up to Hange about this, but also mortified at what they could have possibly said.

“Do I even wanna know what you told him?” You couldn’t really fight the blush that was erupting on your face, but you tried your best to ignore it. Of course you thought about sleeping with them. On numerous occasions. The thought, especially recently, had left you feeling somewhat fidgety and nervous, but never would you have assumed you wouldn’t be… satisfied.

“Just that he didn’t have anything to worry about. Levi is always paying attention, so as long as he’s paying attention to you, and your,” they stopped talking for a moment, looking for the right word, “responses,” they snapped their fingers, “then he would be fine.”

Even though you were still slightly embarrassed, Hange’s advice wasn’t bad. Thank god.

“I also offered to show him a few videos, but then he threw a pen at me so,” they shrugged as if this was a normal thing to do. “It’s always important to do a little research, I don’t know what his deal was.”

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with you and the fact that you offered to watch porn with him,” Moblit said, shaking his head, but still looking at Hange like they hung the moon. Something was surely wrong with him, but you couldn’t argue your case on sanity either since you were about to enter an already established relationship.

“I don’t see a problem with watching porn for educational purposes with your best friend.” The waiter arrived at that exact moment. His steps halted suddenly and you had to avert your eyes to keep from laughing at the look on his face. Poor guy. You had to make sure to leave a good tip when you were done.

It was unseasonably warm out today, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing since you planned a picnic. You woke up at six this morning, doe-eyed and bushy-tailed, or whatever the saying was. There was too much energy coursing through you to actually rest.

Last night you had texted the guys to be ready by four since that was the time you would be arriving on their doorstep. The park you were taking them to was only a twenty minute train ride away and the local university jazz orchestra was playing.

It sounded romantic. Fun. You even dipped strawberries in chocolate and cut sandwiches into triangles. You also stopped by a florist on your way home this morning from the grocery store. Maybe it was weird buying grown men a bouquet of flowers, but if you were being honest you didn’t really care. It was pretty and colorful and it felt special.

The smile on your face hadn’t slipped off since you woke up. It was the oddest feeling. Being unabashedly happy. It was foreign and scary because surely there was a shoe above your head prepared to drop. But every time you looked up there was nothing. Your smile grew.

Even getting dressed was fun. Your dress was a pretty pale green, silk, and it stopped mid thigh. You paired it with a cream cropped cardigan and some white mary janes. You felt so flirty and confident. It was such an odd feeling. Your cheeks were going to feel sore soon enough.

You tried not to get ready super quickly because you despised the feeling of waiting around. Especially when they were just next door. They wouldn’t mind if you showed up early and you knew that, but you wanted this to go exactly as you planned. And this very much would be like every other hangout. Except it wasn’t. It was more. It was a date.

You giggled to yourself like an idiot.

It was 4:01pm. You had the picnic basket gripped in one hand and the flowers in the other hidden behind your back as you stood on their doorstep. You had to keep yourself from jumping on the balls of your feet like an overexcited child.

Levi opened the door about two seconds after you knocked. He looked handsome in his baggy jeans and white tshirt. He was in the middle of throwing on an open brown button up when you arrived.

“You’re late,” he said, slipping his arm through the sleeve and adjusting it.

“You’re still getting ready,” you countered, and he rolled his eyes. You didn’t miss the slight smile he had on his face though.

“You look pretty,” he said, eyes wandering down your frame as you tried to keep from blushing. It was a lot being under Levi’s gaze. He always said so much without saying anything at all.

“These are for you.” You pulled the bouquet out from behind your back, suddenly so incredibly nervous. Because what if he hated them? It was a simple floral arrangement, the colors mostly white and blue.

“You bought us flowers,” he said as a statement. His tone was neutral. You felt your hands start to sweat.

“It’s okay if you hate them,” you blurted as his fingers brushed yours where they were wrapped around the stems.

“Why would I hate them?” He asked, one corner of his lips lifting as he took them from you.

“I don’t know, but I’m just saying it’s okay,” you knew you should shut up. You knew if he didn’t like them he would say it, but you couldn’t help the rambling. The first date jitters were effectively flooding your system.

“I don’t,” he said, smelling the hydrangeas in the center. Levi’s hand caught your wrist as he tugged you gently towards him. He leaned in, lips pressing the gentlest kiss against your cheek. “I like them, actually. This is my mom’s favorite flower.”

Something warm and fuzzy blossomed in your chest. The stars must have aligned. The planets must have found their proper positions in the sky.

“Flowers?” Erwin asked when he finally approached the door. He took them from Levi’s hand, smelling them before nodding and walking off to the kitchen.

“Wait,” Levi said following him, “you have to make sure to cut the stems bef–”

“I know, love,” Erwin interrupted.

“And the packet you have to add to the wa–”

“I know,” he emphasized, turning to look over at Levi who was trying his hardest to keep from taking the bouquet and doing it himself. Erwin smiled at you once Levi just huffed and turned away. Your own lips lifted in a secret smile at the interaction.

“We should leave soon,” you said, still shuffling in the open doorway. “We don’t wanna be late.”

Erwin slipped the properly prepped flowers into a vase and slid it to the center of the island. They complimented the space well. A small swell of pride illuminated through you. He made his way to you in confident strides. He looked good, but it was rare that he didn’t. He wore a pair of beige slacks, sneakers, and a white linen short-sleeve button-up. It was simple, but it fit his frame perfectly.

“And what exactly do we not want to be late for?” He asked, hands finding your waist and sliding down the smooth fabric of your dress. The casual intimacy caught you off guard. Touch always seemed to come so naturally to Erwin.

“I like this,” he said before you could answer his previous question. His hands were still rubbing up your sides affectionately as his eyes wandered over your body. You tried hard to ignore the burning of shyness that was starting to heat your skin.

“Thank you,” you finally managed to say. “Also we’re going to the park near downtown.”

You held up the basket, swinging it from side to side to showcase it. “See and I packed food.”

“Oooh, we’re gonna watch the jazz students play?” Erwin asked, delighted.

“I forget you work for the university,” you nodded, realizing too late you probably shouldn’t have said anything if you wanted the date to stay a surprise.

“They’re really good. You’ll love it,” he added, hands now squeezing at your waist in a very distracting way. He was standing so close to you. His cologne was wrapping around you like a cozy blanket and you very nearly considered just staying in. But no, you went through all that trouble preparing this damn date, so you were going on it regardless of how badly you wanted to push them into the bedroom and not leave for the rest of the weekend.

“We should get going then,” you stepped away from Erwin’s wandering hands, needing to breathe in air that wasn’t being perfumed by him. You were ushered out the door soon after by Erwin, whose hands found their way back to your waist as soon as you turned away from him.

You were kind of unsure how to navigate this date. Perception was a funny thing. You shouldn’t care about it and you knew that Levi and Erwin sure as hell did not care. But you didn’t want to overstep, to cross a boundary that made anyone uncomfortable. It was an awkward feeling that you warred over as you made your way to the train station.

To be honest, the feeling also felt silly. Especially when Erwin plucked the picnic basket from your hands before you stepped onto the train while Levi’s hand found the small of your back to guide you. They made everything feel so natural. Like this was any other day that the three of you were going out. Except it wasn’t. It was so much more.

“What did you pack for us?” Erwin lifted the lid to the basket, but you moved quickly, slamming it closed with your palm flattened against the wicker.

“That’s a surprise,” you responded, smiling up at him cheekily. His hand rose in surrender and he winked in response. “You’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

“Yes, Erwin,” Levi nodded, “don’t be so impatient.”

Erwin laughed heartily. Out of the two of them he wasn’t the one known for his impatience. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

“Good,” Levi smoothed his hand over your hip. The act itself was tender, but there was a light squeeze that accompanied it. One that had a flurry of something anticipatory flutter through your belly. You had to fight the gasp that clung to your vocal chords. “I’m sure she worked hard on whatever is in that basket.”

“Not that hard,” you argued, laughing lightly. “It’s not like I woke up before daybreak to prepare.”

Both of their gazes slid over to you with suspicious amusement.

“Right… that sounds completely out of the question,” Erwin said, looking pointedly at Levi, who had to look away to hide his smile.

“It looks like our stop is coming up,” you said, turning around so that neither of them had to witness the blush that began dusting over your cheeks. It was hopeless though because Levi’s hand started to rub gentle circles where it rested on your hip. That motion alone had your neck flushing and a dangerous heat swirling low in your abdomen. This date was going to be torture and you have a distinct feeling that they conspired it to be that way.

“Let’s go,” Erwin chuckled before grabbing your hand and leading you out the sliding doors of the train. Once you found your footing on the concrete of the station, you looped your hand through Levi’s elbow. Perception be damned. Today you scored two of the hottest men you’ve ever seen and you’d be an idiot not to relish in their affection. Maybe even flaunt it a little.

“I never said that.” You wacked Erwin’s bicep with the back of your hand. His head fell back with a laugh and he nearly spilled what little wine was left in the small wine glass all over his top.

“It was implied,” his words sloshed together. He wasn’t drunk by any means. Not on alcohol, anyway. The three of you seemed to be drunk by the moment. The sun was sitting low in the sky and it cast the warmest golden glow on your section of the park. The students were incredibly talented. The crowd they drew was relatively big as well. Groups of people clustered randomly throughout the large expanse of grass. Blankets, lawn chairs, and laughter. It was difficult not to feel light-headed by the appeal of the evening.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, “you’ve only had one partner.”

Your jaw dropped at his reasoning, but you didn’t have time to respond. Not when Levi muffled a chuckle beside you.

“And you agree?” You glared at him in astonishment and with some betrayal as well.

“I mean,” he shrugged before downing the rest of his wine in a single gulp.

“I cannot believe this,” you threw your hand up and dropped it dramatically back onto your thigh. “I don’t even know how we got here.”

Levi’s hand landed on top of the hand that was resting on your thigh and he squeezed. His fingers were cool against your exposed skin and despite the heat outside and the warmth from the wine curling in your stomach, goosebumps popped up across your thigh. You were so wound up that whatever physical affection either of them showed you had your mind wandering to places it shouldn’t be. At least not right now. In the middle of a date. In the middle of a park.

Maybe his allegations were true. You were reacting like a schoolgirl who had never felt the touch of a man before. It’s just been a while since you had felt so desired in this way. Either way, you wouldn’t allow for it.

“Just so you know, I am not a prude,” you huffed, flipping open the basket lid to retrieve the strawberries.

“Now I didn’t say that,” Erwin emphasized, chuckling once again.

“It was implied,” you repeated his own words back at him, but when he tried to respond he only got as far as parting his lips before you shoved a chocolate covered strawberry into his mouth. It shocked him which was your primary goal, but you didn’t necessarily think it through. Because when his lips wrapped around the fruit and grazed your fingertips your heart skipped a beat. And when he looked up at you, eyes blue and bright and sparkling with haughty expectancy your heart skipped two beats. But when his tongue licked the melted chocolate off of your thumb, eyes glued to yours, your heart stopped altogether.

Eating chalk would probably be easier than the amount of effort it currently took to refrain from throwing yourself at him. He released your fingers, his jaw working slowly to chew the strawberry you just fed him. Meanwhile, Levi still had his hand on your thigh. It was currently burning a hole into your skin.

Suddenly, the saxophonist decided that this was the time to have a solo. It was a sensual number, the instrument caressed each note in a way that felt entirely suggestive. It wasn’t just setting a mood. The mood had already been set. This was taking a lit match and setting the mood on fire.

“How was it?” You cleared your throat, finally dropping your hand and placing it on the blanket you were sitting on. You needed the extra support to feel stable. “Was it good?”

“Delicious,” he answered. But the word was thick with double entendre. His voice had dipped low into a tenor you very rarely heard him speak with. It was hoarse and it felt like nails scratched down your spine. Now the goosebumps had traveled up your thigh, across your abdomen and down your arms. The evening could be mistaken for autumn with the way you shiver at nothing but a glance from one man and a carefully placed hand from another.

“Can I have a taste?” Levi asked, and you had to try exceptionally hard to keep your eye from twitching. They really were making this difficult for you. They made themselves damn near irresistible. As if you weren’t already ready and willing to do anything they asked.

You plucked another strawberry from the basket and held it out to Levi. His eyes swept over your face and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep the gasp from escaping your lips when instead of taking the strawberry with his hand like you expected, he leant in really close. He paused before his lips met the tip of the fruit, and your fingers tightened around the cluster of leaves. He wasn’t looking at you. Not at first. Not until his lips took the strawberry into his mouth and his gaze penetrated through his lashes that dusted the very end of his bangs.

“More wine?” You offered, but before either of them could answer you, you poured the remaining liquid into your own glass. You drank half in one go to quell the nerves and raucous desire that was suddenly and violently running through you. “It’s really good.”

Erwin’s head dropped to his chest with a quiet laugh and Levi turned his head to face the orchestra. You could tell by the way his cheek sunk between his molars that he was trying to suppress a laugh of his own. You were glad to have cut through the tension. It was becoming too overwhelming. And honestly you needed to get home with your panties still on and not strewn somewhere in this very park.

Hell, maybe you were a prude. But self control was a virtue and around these two exercising it was a torturous endeavor.

Luckily for you, you were able to convince them to take the train back home instead of ordering an uber. You were already suffocating on them as it was. The idea of being crowded into a backseat with them on either side of you sent your heart, mind, and pussy into overdrive. It would be a torture tactic not even the FBI would employ. At least, not one that you deserved.

So a twenty minute train ride, still coasting by on the lovely traces of alcohol that was in your system, was your only real option.

“The train at this time is going to be full of drunk idiots,” Levi complained.

“Great, so we won’t stand out,” you shrugged, looping your hand through his elbow and pulling him into your side.

“I’m not drunk,” he said, glaring at you. But when he looked over his face was far closer than you estimated. “Not even close.”

“Right, you might stand out then,” you whispered to him. Surprisingly, he smiled. You saw it all the way in his eyes. They crinkled in the corners, maybe there was even a twinkle in them. You had to clear your throat and glance away, but your eyes wandered over to Erwin. Who was already staring at the two of you with the most complicated expression. It was profound, intense. But it was also soft and tender. Almost sweet.

Your heart was having a hard time beating regularly. At this point, you weren’t sure if the heart in your chest was even yours. Maybe it was replaced by a wayward hummingbird. Either way, you needed to make it home without causing a scandal.

“Anyway,” you took a strategic step away from Levi and two carefully measured steps ahead of them. “We don’t want to miss the next train.”

There was a giggle that burst forth from your chest. It was giddy, breathless. Relentless. It was short and secretive because just as the noise escaped you a car honked in the distance. It was the last delightful noise you made that was only for you that night.

You arrived at the station just as the doors to the train were going to close. The three of you ran through them, Erwin nearly lifting you through the doors when your heel caught on a random crack. The moon was full as you walked back home beneath its light. There was a beautiful silence that accompanied your stroll. This time your hand was in Levi’s and the other curled around Erwin’s forearm. And while the silence was a knowing comfort, there was a thick air of anticipatory unfamiliarity.

It was the deep and innate sense that while everything was the same it was also entirely different. Even your houses, that stood perfectly side by side as they always had, felt new. Your rusted gates were that much more endearing. It was the first time in an incredibly long time that you felt at home. That you couldn’t imagine a life, a world, even a moment without them. Without this.

“Well,” you stood beside your gate, hand toying with the metal latch. “I guess this is good night.”

Erwin’s laugh was gruff and unexpected. You looked up at him through your lashes as you attempted to remain coy. The look on his face, though, was anything but. It was open, sincere, and full of such an obvious craving for you. You would be an absolute idiot if you went into your own home tonight. Alone, at least.

Levi reached for you. His fingers slipped beneath the buttons of your cardigan, and gently but without the hesitancy that usually accompanied a first time, he tugged you towards him. Your heels made two decisive clicks against the concrete as your body made contact with his.

“Did you want to come in?” He asked, but his eyes were on your lips as he did.

“It’s late,” you said as your fingers twitched at your sides. You wanted to touch him so very badly. “You’re not tired?”

“Not in the slightest.” The familiar creak of their gate met your ears. The keys Erwin had in his pocket jingled as he searched for the house key. And it was all so loud in the quiet of the night. Even your pulse thumped deafeningly in your neck. “But if you are? Our bed fits three.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I don’t,” he took a step away from you, but his fingers remained hooked in your sweater. “But we can test it out.”

You released a breathless laugh. But you followed Levi’s urging hands. You followed them up their front steps through their front door. Followed them as Levi’s hands found your waist as soon as the door shut behind you. Leaned in as Levi’s lips met yours. He kissed you like it was all he had been thinking about. Like if he had to wait another day, another minute, another second, then he would cease to live. It was a kiss that melted your knees and if it weren’t for the way you looped your arms around his neck you were sure you would’ve collapsed.

Levi stopped kissing you much too soon. There was a complaint lodged preciously against your tongue, but your mouth wasn’t unoccupied for long. Erwin, who stood beside you so patiently, now took up the space previously owned by Levi. He pulled you into him with a lot less grace than Levi had given you. His hand found its way behind your neck and he used that leverage to tilt your head towards him. The pressure was almost enough to make your eyes cross from pleasure. Your lips parted around a gasp and his tongue slipped into your mouth before you could complete the salacious inhale.

Erwin was good at this. He was good at disorienting you. Because for some odd reason or another you didn’t recall your feet moving. But they had. Your back was pressed against their bedroom door. And with an athletic agility you were unaware Erwin even possessed, he turned the knob that was seated beside your waist, wrapped his arm around your back to keep you upright, and somehow pushed the door open while dragging Levi through it by the collar of his shirt. All the while his lips never left yours.

The buttons on your cardigan were popped open from behind and when Levi was done undoing them, he pushed the soft fabric over your shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses on every new inch of exposed skin. Erwin finally broke the kiss. Probably because you were losing the ability to kiss him back.

“I really do like this dress,” he complimented, running his hands down your sides until his hands met with Levi’s at your hips. You were now perfectly sandwiched between them. A reality that not even your wildest dreams had been able to conjure. Not without the guilt that used to come along with it. But now you had no reason to feel guilty. Not when they both were so blatantly lustful over you.

“Th-thank you,” you stuttered, your voice hiccuping when Levi’s lips began to kiss your jaw.

Hands were everywhere. Breath was no longer in your lungs. Your mind was dizzy with want. Want. Want. They manhandled you onto the edge of their bed. Their bodies pressed against either side of you.

Oh, you needed them. Like this. Exactly like this. With Levi’s lips on yours and Erwin’s lips on your neck. Someone’s hand was creeping towards your inner thigh. The hem of your silk dress dragged cool waves across your skin and you bit down a moan.

Only for it to be punched out of your chest when those very same fingers pressed curiously against the wet patch you knew was gathering on your panties.

“Shit, baby,” Erwin’s voice smeared hot and wet against your collarbone. It was his fingers. And honestly you should’ve known it was him. His fingers were long and thick and sturdy where they rubbed your slit in one torturous stripe.

You couldn’t stop the way your hips jumped or the way your moan spilled shocked and needy from your lips into Levi’s mouth. You were on edge, body tense, and craving but somehow the pleasure that was rocketing through you— caused by Erwin’s insistent fingers on your clit— frightened you.

It was nearly too much. But Levi pulled away, his lips were damp and red from the way you sucked at them mere moments ago. Your eyes opened, vision blurred with desperate tears, but it didn’t matter how blurry your sight was. Because you could see Levi’s beauty straight through it. His blush— you’ve always loved his blush— painted his cheeks crimson. His lashes were long where they blinked against the thin skin beneath his eyes.

Unfortunately though, you couldn’t admire him for long. Not when Erwin’s tongue licked heatedly against your pulse. And especially not when his fingers, strong and sure, moved your underwear aside as if the fabric bothered him. As if it was in the way of something he wanted.

And right now, it felt like he wanted you. Maybe, probably, hopefully just as much as you wanted him.

You could tell how wet you were before his fingers met your naked center. But it didn’t stop your gasp of surprise when his fingers quite literally slipped between your folds. You didn’t think you'd ever gotten so wet so quickly before. You were almost overstimulated by it all.

It was a thick wetness that coated Erwin’s fingers, and it aided him in pressing two fingers to your entrance. He slid in easily. No resistance. And when the feeling became too great your head fell back between your shoulders, a high pitched whine wheezing up your tight vocal chords as his fingers explored and massaged.

The muscles in your thighs twitched when Erwin groaned into your neck. It was all so hot. Intense. You were burning up from the inside out. The flames of desire only grew when his fingers found tissue, soft and sensitive and aching, inside your pussy.

Air was a luxury you could no longer afford and your legs began to snap shut when another hand, smaller but somehow still painfully strong, forced them open again.

When you looked over at Levi he wasn’t staring at your face like you were expecting him to. Instead his eyes were laser focused on Erwin’s hand between your thighs. The sounds of your slick being pushed and pulled from you suddenly hit your ears. Sloppy was the only way you could describe it.

Erwin’s lips were also no longer on your neck. The three of you now seemed to just stare down at the silky material of your dress, now discolored from where certain areas came into contact with the mess Erwin was making of you.

You rolled your hips against Erwin’s fingers, grinding down harder than you meant to. But you couldn’t help it. He was searching for your release and you were so willing to give it to him. So ready to fall apart around him. It was becoming unbearable.

But that was the least of your worries because quicker than your mind could process Levi was kneeling between your open knees. His hands slid up your thighs, massaging and kneading the plushness of them before his nails scraped lightly against lace.

You were glad you chose one of the only lingerie sets you owned, but you realized now, rather belatedly, that it didn’t matter. Not when Levi slipped your underwear down your thighs, pausing at your calves, before taking them off of you entirely. He didn’t take a second look at them before throwing the sad excuse of wet fabric over his shoulder and using both hands to widen your legs for him.

The sight was enough to make Levi groan. It was deep, hoarse, and scratched so harshly down your spine that you shivered.

“Pretty isn’t it?” Erwin asked, fingers slowing to languidly scissor you open. You bit your bottom lip to keep from moaning. Levi looked up at you, his eyes glossed over with desire. You clenched around Erwin’s fingers. “And tight,” Erwin breathed, but barely when his exhale got caught in his chest.

Everything seemed to slow down. Erwin’s fingers slipped out from inside you with a squishy sound. You were drenched yet you didn’t have time to feel an ounce of shame over it because Erwin’s fingers were moving towards Levi’s lips.

There were thick strings of you connecting Erwin’s fore and middle finger. God, it would’ve been almost embarrassing if Levi’s lips weren’t parting so readily. You might have even told Erwin to stop if not for the way Levi’s eyes closed and his lips wrapped so eagerly around Erwin.

You swore you felt Levi’s low moan before the sound met your ears.

“Does she taste good, Levi?” Erwin’s voice was nothing but a deep rumble as he pumped his fingers in and out of Levi’s pliant mouth twice.

Your breath fell from your lips in heavy puffs as you watched. Somehow, you watching still felt intrusive. Like a scene you weren’t meant to see or at the very least it should have faded to black by now.

Instead, Levi didn’t answer. He sucked Erwin’s fingers clean, and then moved to push your dress up and over your hips. His intent was clear, but nerves rattled through you as Levi’s face drew nearer. His hot breath huffed over sensitive skin. Erwin grabbed hold of your thigh and hooked it over his own so Levi had more access. To you.

There was a beat of hesitation. You remembered that conversation you had over lunch with Hange. The realization striking you in the gut. “Levi, you don-”

Your words immediately died in your throat when Levi buried his face in your cunt. You gasped as the heat of his mouth enveloped you. Your hands fisted their bedding and if it weren’t for Erwin’s broad frame holding you up, your body would have given out.

Levi wasn’t particularly coordinated or strategic with his approach to eating you out. But that didn’t matter much when he was so messy. So sloppy. Levi was making out with your pussy and he was making it hard for you to concentrate.

“Oh,” you whined, back pressing more of your weight into Erwin, your chest rising and falling rapidly. He kissed your temple. It was comforting. The gesture was almost sweet until he said “I really didn’t think watching you grind against my boyfriend’s face would make me this hard.”

A laugh, startled and breathless, punched from your lungs. You glanced down at Erwin’s beige pants, his erection so obvious you weren’t sure how you missed it before. It looked almost painful as it strained beneath thin material.

“Or maybe I should say,” he pinched your jaw with his hand to force you to look up at him. The angle wasn’t uncomfortable but staring into Erwin’s eyes as Levi flattened his tongue against you made your shoulders tense and your stomach flip. “Our boyfriend?”

The fact that it was poised as a question wasn’t lost on you. But the implication rolled over you like honey. Sweet and unbearably sticky. It made so much sense. His boyfriend. Your boyfriend. Their girlfriend.

“Mhm,” you hummed, head nodding against Erwin’s shoulder, “yes.”

The singular syllable was riddled with carnal need. A need to be theirs. To be desired. To be at home. With them. God, you wanted it so badly it made your chest ache.

“Yeah?” Erwin’s eyes were so dark it was frightening, his pupils were dilated and his lips were plump and his hair was a mess.

“Please,” you whined just as Levi’s fingers filled you again. You couldn’t stop the drawn out moan he pulled from you. Levi’s fingers searched your walls until you seized up around him. His lips sucked at your clit greedily and your vision blurred. Watery and duplicated.

“Oh my god,” you hid your face in Erwin’s shoulder, unable to jerk your hips away from Levi with Erwin’s bruising grip on your thigh. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

Your hand shot out to grip Levi’s hair in a fist, the silky tresses gliding between your parted fingers as he quickened his pace. It was entirely too much. You weren’t even sure if you were still breathing.

But none of that mattered. Not when you shattered so harshly and unexpectedly around Levi’s careful fingers. Your vision went dark and your body became rigid and sounds were nothing but a distant memory lodging itself in the back of your mind.

“Holy shit,” Levi muttered against your inner thigh, smearing your slick against the already moistened skin.

“That was…” Erwin’s voice trailed off. You were completely slumped in his arms, body jolting when Levi removed his fingers. And even though you were sensitive and twitching from your orgasm, you still missed them. You still craved them inside of you.

Levi stood over you– lips, chin, and cheeks completely covered in you. The sight raised your body temperature to feverish levels. Levi’s eyes dragged over your body, leaving flames in his wake. And he leaned over you, bracing one hand on your thigh and the other on Erwin’s. You had absolutely no idea what he was about to do. Your brain was moving far too slowly as the endorphins continued to pump through your body.

He tilted his head. His breath was heavy as he breathed through his nose. And he was kissing Erwin before you could blink. His tongue was mingling with Erwin’s before you could even inhale.

The sound of Erwin’s groan shot straight to your core, reigniting a spark that had barely even gone out. Watching them kiss was far hotter than you ever could have imagined. The sight alone sent tingles straight to your toes. Levi pulled away sooner than you would’ve liked.

“You tell me,” Levi’s breaths were coming at him hard and fast, “does she taste good?”

In real time you watched Erwin’s expression morph into something almost animalistic. And for the first time it hit you what exactly it was you were about to do. What exactly you were currently doing.

Erwin gripped Levi’s jaw and kissed him again. This one harder than the last. You shifted in place, the straps of your dress naturally fell off your shoulders as you did. It was a sobering moment and the last moment you would have to really absorb the new set of circumstances you found yourself in.

You slid off the edge of the bed. Your motion caught their attention and their kiss broke so that they could look at you fully. Under their intense gazes, a sort of timid naivete flushed across your heated skin. You grasped the loose straps of your dress between shy fingers, tilting your chin to rest on your shoulder as you pushed the thin material down your arm. You repeated the motion on the other side until the top half of your dress fell to sit at your waist, your lacy bra on display for them.

Fortunately for them, you didn’t really feel like taking your time with your strip tease. You reached behind your back and undid the clasp with practiced fingers, slipping it off until one of the bra straps dangled from your fingertips before dropping it to the floor.

“Ok,” you whispered, your nipples pebbling in the cold air of their home. Self-consciousness started to set in the longer they looked at you. “You can stop staring now and touch me.”

That was more than enough to kick them into gear. Your back met the mattress with an ungraceful flop as you bounced lightly. Erwin was between your legs and his hands worked your dress the rest of the way off your body. After he tossed it somewhere off to the side, his fingers skirted across the outside of your breasts. He dragged his fingertips over the contours of them before he took his thumb and rubbed each nipple. You jumped at the contact.

“You okay?” Erwin asked, bending at the waist to hover over your naked body. The way his top rippled across your skin gave you goosebumps. It was tantalizing in a way you couldn’t even describe. Your thighs twitched where they bracketed Erwin’s.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, the word dusting across Erwin’s cheeks before he tipped forward the rest of the way. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, continuing to pepper them down your neck and over your collarbone. Soon enough, he was kissing the space between your breasts. You arched into him needily when you felt his tongue dart out between his lips to lick over you. Your eyes were about to shut when they landed on Levi. His shirt was gone and he was unzipping his jeans.

Your eyes wandered down his body selfishly. You drank in every inch of muscular skin. Levi’s eyes were stuck on the way Erwin navigated your body. Erwin wrapped his lips around your nipple, indulging in the way you writhed beneath him. A gasp caught in your throat at the sensation. Saliva pooled in your mouth as he flicked over it with his tongue.

Levi kicked off his jeans before disappearing into the bathroom of their bedroom. You didn’t have much time to be curious. Not when Erwin’s attention was moving to your other breast. Not when he groaned in response to your whine. He continued kissing down your body as your hands tried desperately to undo the buttons of his top. You were getting increasingly needy. You couldn’t help it.

“Here,” Levi returned. He tossed a condom at Erwin who stopped kissing you for long enough to glance over at Levi. His hair was a mess where you kept running your hands through it and his shirt hung open loosely from the few buttons you were able to open.

Erwin sat up. His chest was blushing and his breathing was heavy as he looked between Levi, the condom, and you. You hadn’t really discussed how this would go. Everything was so emotionally charged that no one thought to mention the dynamics of this. This was your first threesome for lack of a better word. And while alone in the safety of your bed, your mind had wandered to fantasies such as this, you weren’t sure what to do next. Who to do it to?

“You’re too dressed,” you said to Erwin. He had all of his clothes on still, meanwhile you were completely bare and Levi was only in his underwear. You rose to lean on your elbows and shifted your gaze to Levi, who stood beside the bed with tension in his shoulders and a scowl on his face. But you knew he wasn’t irritated. He was frustrated, evidenced by the bulge in his briefs and the wet spot that formed at his head. You needed to take those off of him.

So you rolled over to sit in front of him. Your legs swung off the bed and you pulled Levi towards you by the elastic band of his underwear.

“Can I…?” You asked as you hooked your fingers beneath the waistband and awaited his reply. He caressed your neck with his hand, using his thumb to tilt your face up to him by pressing it beneath your chin.

“All yours,” he whispered. His voice carried a truth that was hard for you to swallow. It was too large for you to comprehend, so you left that for later to process. Instead you pushed the restrictive fabric down his thighs. Your eyes stared longingly into his, unable to look anywhere else with the way he held steadfast to your face.

You dragged your knuckles up the sides of his thighs, drawing a line over his hips and up his waist. Your fingertips carved over the outlines of his abs as you brought them back down. You felt Levi shiver at your reverent touch. You watched as his eyes grew half-lidded and his lips parted around gentle puffs of air. He really was just so pretty.

The only reason you tore your gaze from his face was to see the way your fingers traced his dick. You wrapped sure fingers around his shaft, stroking him from base to tip as you watched a bead of precum leak from him. He groaned from deep within his chest. He folded over you, his lips smearing against your cheek before messily capturing yours.

Suddenly, his movements were riddled with urgency. He pushed you down until you were lying flat on your back again. He straddled one of your thighs as your bodies tangled when your head hit a pillow. Your hands knotted in his hair as his explored your curves. He prodded and massaged at your soft skin, moaning every time your tongue made contact with his.

You quickly realized how sensitive Levi was. He was like an exposed wire. Twitching and sparking every time your hands touched any part of him. You gained enough leverage to roll him onto his back, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you sat above him. His arms dropped to his sides as you knelt between his legs.

“Hey there,” you said. Your voice held admiration for him as you dragged your nails lightly down his chest. And even with the lightest of pressure his skin blossomed with red lines before fading into a dusty pink.

“Mm- hi,” he said, managing a chuckle to cover up his grunt. He gripped your wrist as you continued your descent down his torso. You bent over, making sure to mouth over every mark you made on his abdomen. Even taking the time to kiss his hips before finally turning your attention to where he looked most desperate for it. Just as your lips grazed the head of Levi’s cock, a set of hands grabbed your hips and lifted them back.

“Oop,” you yelped, your entire body shifting as your forehead landed on Levi’s thigh.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Erwin’s voice was dizzyingly rough. You knew from the tone that he had been watching. Staring as you and Levi tousled around their sheets. “But I was feeling a bit left out.”

He was teasing, you saw it in his eyes when you turned to look at him over your shoulder. He had undressed entirely per your instruction. And genuinely it was just insane how fit a college professor was. Was he doing crunches between lectures?

“So you decide to manhandle me?”

“Oh you don’t like it?” He swatted playfully at your ass. But it was hard enough to pitch you forward, and whatever taunting retort you had prepared was replaced with a whimper. One decorated in pleasure.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “I had a feeling.”

“Don’t toy with her, Erwin,” Levi complained, twisting the duvet in his fists as he looked down at the sight unfolding between his legs.

“Don’t be so impatient,” Erwin said as his fingers dipped between your legs. You were still wet from your orgasm, your slick smeared between your thighs at this point. He gathered some of it onto his fingers despite the way you squirmed. And you knew from the sound that when Erwin stopped petting you, he was coating himself with you. The imagery alone was filthy and the fact that it was happening inches away from your cunt had you clenching in anticipation around nothing.

“I gotta make sure she’s ready,” Erwin continued, his cock slipping between your folds as he rutted against you. Your eyes blinked closed from the feeling, your cheek smoothing against Levi’s thigh as you tried to keep your hips still. But it was an impossible task when Erwin began pressing into you. You knew he wasn’t small nor average. You just weren’t prepared for his girth. Erwin was thick as he pushed past your entrance and you nearly choked on your breath.

“Oh my,” you moaned, your eyes squeezing shut as you clutched onto Levi’s thigh for stability. Because honestly? You were losing it.

Levi scooted down to cradle your face in his hands. He collected as much of your hair as he could into one fist before his other hand came down to thumb at your bottom lip.

“I know,” he consoled, taking some of the drool that seeped from the corner of your lips and rubbing it across your bottom one. “Just breathe.”

You tried to do as he requested, but you chose to distract yourself instead by stroking Levi’s cock again. It wasn’t coordinated by any means. But the way his stomach tensed and the gasp that fell from his mouth were enough to take your mind off of how Erwin was splitting you open.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Erwin grunted when he finally bottomed out. His hips were flush against you and he gave you a second to get used to him. His thumbs drew reassuring circles along the small of your back.

You rolled your hips experimentally, your eyes rolling slightly from his cock dragging languidly against your walls. His grip tightened on your hips and you assumed he was trying to control himself. For your sake. But that wasn’t necessary. Not when he filled you so thoroughly your brain began to dissolve into pleasant mush.

“Move,” you murmured into Levi’s skin, “please, Erwin, just…fuck me.”

“God,” he growled, his hips pulling away from you suddenly. “Do you know how sexy you are?”

His hips snapped back harshly and you jostled across Levi. Your nose tapped the hand that was still wrapped around Levi’s dick, involuntarily squeezing him when Erwin fucked you again. Harder.

“Ah,” you gasped, your inhale breaking before it got the opportunity to meet your lungs. Levi’s hands were still holding your face and when you peeked up at him the blush that erupted across his cheeks was enough to send flames licking down your own spine. He stared, mesmerized, at you and Erwin. Propped up on one elbow as his eyes jumped between the pair of you.

It was hard reassembling your thoughts into something coherent when Erwin was taking it upon himself to fuck you stupid. His previous restraint was completely gone. His thrusts were confident and measured. And when he found exactly what he was looking for after angling his hips just right, he abused it.

“That feel good?” There was the tiniest note of condescension in Erwin’s voice. Mostly because he knew the answer. He knew it felt good. He knew it from the way you pulsed around him and with how every one of his thrusts was met with a pathetic noise from your lips.

“Tell him,” Levi said, his hand gripping tighter in your hair to raise you slightly from the way you were plastered against him. “He likes to hear it. The bastard’s got an ego.”

Levi smirked as the words left him. The look he gave Erwin was dark and knowing and seductive. It was hot enough to make your stomach swirl with the tingles of an impending orgasm. But you didn’t want to come so soon again.

“It feels good,” you muttered, leaning forward to press your lips against Levi’s dick.

“Feels really good,” you slurred, the words ghosting themselves across Levi’s erection as you followed your hand up towards his tip. You flattened your tongue, messily swiping his head across it until you were satisfied with how much saliva pooled there.

You couldn’t guarantee that this would be the best blow job Levi had ever received considering your current state, but you weren’t sure if it even mattered. Because as soon as you wrapped your lips around Levi—as soon as your mouth enclosed around him— and you slid him to the back of your throat, he was curling into you. His hips bucked of their own volition. You gagged, but you didn’t stop. His fist pulled your hair harsher against your scalp as his other hand fell away to grasp the one you held at the base of his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Levi whined, his chin falling to his chest. You bobbed your head as best you could, following each motion with a stroke of your hand. You set a quick pace, mostly because of how desperate Levi was. His hips couldn’t stay still, and your tempo seemed to mimic Erwin’s. The room was filled with the sounds of skin smacking wetly against skin and moans so primal and erotic that despite how much sweat coated your skin you couldn’t stop the shiver that wracked through you.

Erwin snuck a skilled hand between your thighs. You didn’t notice at first until his fingers met your clit and an electric shock shot up your spine. The circles he rubbed against you were unrelenting. He was attempting to coax, to goad, your orgasm from you. You were so sensitive your whole body seized up.

Levi was now doing most of the work for you to get himself off. He fucked your face, albeit considerately, as you nails dug into the bedspread and your eyes rolled back. You tried breathing through your nose but it was unnatural. Your mind could only focus on how intensely you were about to come. On how delirious fear tickled at your consciousness before you succumbed to the pleasure that was seemingly being stolen from you.

Your world went black, and then staticky, and then black again. You went limp between them, allowing the relentless waves to pull you under. You only partially registered when Levi pulled you off of him. You were barely able to open your eyes in time to watch as Levi came all over your tongue.

“Shit,” Erwin hissed from behind you, his thrusts weren’t as rhythmic as before. He was getting close and you could tell, but time was lost to you. It was just a gooey, saccharine puddle of nothingness.

“Come here,” Erwin said, his voice nothing but gravel as he helped you upright. You sagged against his shoulder, your head falling back as you blinked up at him. He had a hand pressed to your collarbone as his eyes raked over your face.

“So pretty, baby,” he whispered in awe and despite how depleted you were, a morsel of desire flared up inside of you. The flames fanned brighter when he kissed you, licking Levi’s cum from your mouth. You whimpered weakly, a victim to a torment that you would willingly endure if it was offered to you every single time. It didn’t take much for Erwin to come after that. A few short, merciless thrusts and he was finishing.

Levi caught you when you collapsed forward. His strong arms gathered around your pliant body as he guided you onto the mattress. He pushed away the strands of hair that stuck to your forehead, kissing your temple and cheek as you found your bearings again. As you steadied your irregular breaths.

“I don’t think I can feel my legs,” you blurted raspily, turning your head to nuzzle into Levi’s neck.

“What?” He laughed, his hand stopping as he attempted to tilt your head towards him.

“My legs,” you repeated, a small, sheepish smile playing on your lips. “I can’t feel them.”

You blinked up at him slowly, satiated yet bone tired. The space beside you dipped under Erwin’s weight.

“Why don’t I run you a bath?” He suggested, his fingers massaging the thigh closest to him adoringly. “I think we’ve got some epsom salt stashed somewhere around here.”

“It’s under the sink,” Levi confirmed, sitting up slightly to look over at Erwin.

“Fine,” you said sleepily, following Levi’s gaze to catch Erwin’s. “But I can’t bathe alone. I might drown.”

Erwin dropped his head to your shoulder to hide his chuckle, but you felt it shake through him anyway. You tried to hide your cheeky smile but it was hopeless. Satisfied delirium was settling deep into your bones and there really was no use fighting how beautifully content you were.

“Lucky for you I’m certified in CPR, but just in case I’ll join you,” he replied, giving you one last peck to your lips before he slid off the bed in the direction of the bathroom.

“And what are you gonna do?” You stretched against Levi, lifting your arms to hug around his neck.

“I’m,” he paused to wiggle away from you as your fingers began to wander down his spine, “going to change these sheets.”

#missed these weirdos #eruri x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfic #sonder #eruri fanfic

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