°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You locked a strip up his abs, your eyes never leaving his. Kai leaned his head back and his eyebrows suddenly raised. His mouth formed an ‘O’ shape, the notion of what you were doing suddenly clicking in his mind.

You crawled up his body and planted yourself right on his growing hard-on. An innocent smile was plastered across your face and without thinking, Kai’s hands moved to your hips. “I see now…” he trailed.

Slowly, you stripped off your pajama shirt, leaving you in nothing but your panties—and Kai in nothing but his boxers. You leaned down, Kai’s gaze trailing you, and hooked your fingers underneath the hem of his boxers. “Ah,” Kai spoke, moving your hands. “If you want to get off, you’ll have to do it a different way.” He took your hips and pushed them up his body and off of his hard cock. Kai then rested against the bed frame, his hands leaving your hips and resting at his sides. “And without my help,” he continued.

Kai threw that same innocent smile back at you, his hair falling into his eyes. You pouted a little before reaching up and moving his hair. “Fine,” you said. You wanted to make sure he got a clear view.

You climbed off of him briefly to strip off the panties that stuck to you with your arousal before climbing back on top of him, completely naked now. Kai watched this whole thing, licking his suddenly dry lips. You placed your hands on his broad chest, stabilizing yourself, before slowly sitting right where his abs were.

Rocking your hips forward, you took your bottom lip between your teeth. You and Kai’s gaze never broke, and he seemed content on just watching you slowly unravel on top of him. Each ridge your heat grazed over made you dizzy until your hips were moving faster and your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. Distantly, you heard Kai’s laugh and felt his hands back on your hips.

Your mouth fell open in a moan, your brows knitted together, and your eyes opened to look down at him. There was a twinkle in his eyes as they hungrily took in every part of your body, lingering on how you made his abs more and more wet with your arousal with each roll of your hips. “Please,” you moaned, soft whimpers leaving your plumped lips. It wasn’t enough for you, you needed him inside of you.

Kai just shook his head, smirking.

“Please,” you begged. His hands trailed up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before his thumbs ran over your perked nipples. His hand then raised to cup your cheek, wiping away the stray tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“I like you like this,” was all he said.

Your nails dug into his chest, a soft mewl escaping your throat. Your head dropped, unable to focus on anything other than his abs along your sensitive clit and his hands all over your body sending shockwaves through you. You were so close and all you wanted to do was feel him.

Kai placed his knuckle under your chin and raised your head. “Look at me,” he said in a soft, but demanding voice. You shook your head, you couldn’t. Kai’s hands grabbed firmly onto your hips, stopping them. You gasped, eyes flying open and more whimpers on your lips. “Keep your eyes on me,” Kai said more firmly.

You nodded rapidly, more pleas leaving you, and Kai started to move your hips again for you. You didn’t waste any time going back to the pace you set for yourself, this time not breaking eye contact with Kai no matter how difficult it was.

Only when your body started to tremble, and you finally unraveled completely on top of him, did he let you look away. You fell onto his chest as creamy white painted his pretty abs. You felt so euphoric that not even the vibrations of Kai’s laugh stirred you.

That was, until he put you on your back, his thumb spreading around the mess you made and jolting you back to life. Your eyes opened with another moan and Kai pushed your knees to your chest, his boxers down and his hard and leaking cock hovering over where you needed to feel him the most.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he repeated, pushing himself inside you—not even the least bit worried about the mess you left on his abs. “Don’t you dare look away—not even for a second.”

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

✉️ ⦂ by the grace of the gods i was somehow able to keep this under a thousand words!! tho i desperately wanted to write him fucking her at the end (ＴｗＴ。) <//3

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @ghstzzn @heechwe @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @bambiihee @fangel @xylatox @izzyy-stuff @sunoosgfv @whosserina @jellymochii @sumsumtingz @riribelle @minaateez @everythingvirgoes @lvrs-street2mmorrow @beomieeeeeeeeeeees

© faeyun - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

when kai asked for a movie night with you, you expected the cuddling. you expected the way he’d pull you into his lap and keep his arms wrapped around you. you even expected the occasional peck of his soft lips against your skin, but you weren’t prepared for his kisses to land on your neck instead of your cheek. it surprises you, but it’s innocent enough to ignore for a while. he doesn’t linger very long, just planting a few small kisses along your pulse point.

you’re able to calm down after a minute, adjusting to your best friend’s newfound interest in your neck. he keeps his head rested against your shoulder, the warm skin of his cheek heating you up. he’s calm and quiet every time he speaks up, making one-off comments about the movie that you only respond to sometimes. with him leaning on you like this, you can feel the vibrations from his voice rumbling against you.

you start dozing off at some point, too relaxed to bother keeping your eyes open, letting your body go lax against kai’s. the slow rhythm of his hands drawing up and down your body helps you drift off; his innocent, soft touches have always comforted you.

“you tired?” he asks, voice low. he entertains himself with the soft skin of your thigh, gently grazing his fingers against it. it sends a shiver down your spine.

“yeah,” you answer, and even you can hear the slow, sleepy lilt in your response. you feel kai’s lips pull into a small smile before he’s pecking your shoulder carefully.

“do you want me to take you to bed?”

you hum, considering his offer, but you don’t feel like moving around. the second you hit your mattress, you’ll probably lose all your drowsiness. “no, i’m comfortable,” you say.

kai giggles, “okay.” he places his hands on your waist and maneuvers you until you’re facing him instead of the television. it’s easy to move you around when you’re so relaxed, just letting him do whatever he wants. you blink at him slowly, taking in his soft features under the dim lights. he looks angelic. you think you tell him that, but you’re only half-awake and can’t really think well.

he brings his face back into your neck, nosing up the column of your throat languidly. a hand on your thigh gently urges you closer, pressing you further into him until you’re chest-to-chest. he keeps his head buried against you, and his affection nearly drowns you. in your sleepy daze, you accept his actions happily, feeling nothing but cherished by your best friend.

the moment builds up so slowly that it barely hits you when he places a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your skin, right under your jaw. the heat of his mouth feels like heaven against you, and you can’t bring yourself to push him away, too comfortable and content to deny his touches. he drags his lips a little further down, sucking lightly against your neck, taking just a small taste of you.

there’s a heat building inside you now, a growing need that you only register when it’s too late. you’re too far into the moment, too entranced by the feeling to pull away. you let him do as he pleases with your pliant body, indulging in the slow, firm drag of his hands over your sides and the glide of his warm tongue against your flesh.

he kisses all over your skin like he needs to keep you warm, humming pleasantly as he brings his mouth to your shoulder. his fingers dip ever so slightly under your shirt, resting on your bare skin, a faint tickle against your waist. his teeth just barely scrape against your skin, and a tiny mewl slips out of you before you can think about controlling yourself.

he pulls his lips off you after that, face flushing red like he’s the one who made the embarrassing noise. cool air hits the saliva trail kai left on your neck, and suddenly you’re missing the heat of his mouth. your stomach’s still twisted up in knots, all worked up from kai’s relentless attention.

“i’m sorry,” he finally says, hands slipping out from under your shirt. his touch lands on your upper thighs instead, just below your hips. you try hard to push down the arousal that pools in your gut, fearing the possibility of making a fool of yourself even more than you already have.

“it’s okay,” you reply meekly. you can’t tell if the silence that fills the room is tense because it’s awkward or because everything feels so intimate. you have to put in a conscious effort to not let your hips buck against his, still perched on his lap. it’s only now that you realize how hard kai’s gotten beneath you, a prominent tent in his pants. you ignore it for both his sake and your own.

“w-we should stop,” he stutters out, loosening the hold he has on you like he’s ready to let you go. you tighten your legs around his, not wanting him to pry you off. this is stupid, and you know you should just go to bed, but you fear what will happen when you finally let the moment fall.

“yeah…” you agree quietly, even though your actions don’t match your words. you stay right where you are, and your eyes betray you when they dart down to his lips. they’re pink and coated with his saliva, and it doesn’t help you simmer down at all. you only feel more restless. his hands find your hips, holding you still against him. it seems like neither of you are willing to pull away.

his gaze flits behind you for a moment. “the movie’s over,” he says.

you hum and nod. it’s quiet for a few seconds as you think of what to say to fill the silence. “it was pretty good,” you say, making boring, meaningless conversation. you’re not thinking about the movie at all.

“yeah, it was,” he agrees. it’s almost like you can see the restraint he’s summoning upon himself to not pounce on you.

nothing seems to dissipate the tension in the air. you’re stuck staring at each other, and it’s like you’re both waiting for the other to make a move. his hands drift a little lower, sprawling out on your thighs. his large palms engulf your flesh so easily. you gulp.

your hands ease themselves onto kai’s chest, ignoring how firm and strong he feels under you. you only put your hands there to ground yourself. you’re only doing this to keep yourself sane. that’s what you’re telling yourself, at least.

“you got anything to do tomorrow?” you ask, voice shaky as you try to keep your tone casual. his fingertips inch up your thighs to breach into your shorts, slight enough to not need to mention it.

“no,” he answers a little breathlessly. your hands trail up until they’re resting around his neck. it would be easy to pull him in for a kiss like this, but you don’t think about that.

“me either,” you say, whispering now. you feel your heart pounding in your chest. there’s a pulse in your core, too, but you promised yourself you’d ignore that. you barely feel able to breathe.

kai’s eyes fall to your lips. you take the opportunity to let your gaze fall to his own, admiring the rosy swell once again. his hands tighten against you in a way that’s barely noticeable, but since you’re so attuned to every little thing happening, you catch it easily.

you find each other’s eyes again at the same time, and mercy finds you both then—you pull into each other hungrily, lips colliding like you can’t bear another second apart. he moans into your mouth, working against you like he needs to swallow you whole. you’re just as desperate as him, hands scrunching up into the fabric of his shirt as you push your tongue into his mouth.

he doesn’t part for a second, not daring to let up on his kiss, and you let him consume you completely. your mind is spinning, and all you can think about is how incredible his mouth is. he kisses like that’s what he was put on earth to do, diving into your mouth like he needs to taste you to survive.

you whine when his palm meets your clothed center, rubbing against your cunt like he knows how hard you’ve been holding back. you grind against his hand unabashedly, possessed by the need to sink into the pleasure he gives you. your hand travels down his torso until you’re palming the bulge in his pants. you work your hand over him in the same rhythm he rubs his fingers against you, calculated and needy.

you’re panting into his mouth now, leaving it wide open for him to swirl his tongue into. your legs clamp around his hand, feeling yourself nearing your peak, and you can’t stop whimpering and moaning. you feel pathetic, you feel like some bitch in heat, but kai seems to absolutely love it.

he pulls away from your mouth to praise you, “pretty. pretty girl. fuck, i really want you.”

you’re entranced by how swollen his lips have become, looking all the more sinful, making your cunt gush pathetically. your stomach tenses up, orgasm approaching quickly, and kai bucks his hips up into your hand. he seems to be getting close too.

“kai, need to cum, please, need it,” you moan, and he doesn’t let up on his rhythm against your core. you almost feel like crying. you can taste your high as it approaches, chasing it by grinding your hips against him faster.

“yeah, let go, cum for me,” he says, sounding just as broken and pathetic as you. your climax hits you like sweet relief, leaving you crying out as kai helps you make a mess of your panties. you feels kai’s dick twitch beneath your palm as you ride out your high, and you jerk your hand over him greedily until he’s spent and spilling his load into his pants. he throws his head back with a deep moan, thrusting up against you until he’s coming back down.

you’re exhausted, sinking against him and leaning into his chest. you don’t even have the energy to talk about the line you just crossed with him. he doesn’t speak up either, only running his hand down your back as he catches his breath.

a few minutes pass, and you think he might be asleep. the rise and fall of his chest is steady, and it almost lulls you into slumber as well. you’d be perfectly content laying in his arms and resting here, but you feel too gross and sweaty to stay. you let a few peaceful minutes pass before slowly prying yourself from kai’s hold—not without his sleepy refusals to let you go—and head off to go shower.

you don’t know if you should go back to the couch with him, or if you should lay in bed and give yourselves some space. you stay in the shower longer than you need to, not wanting to make any decisions that’s going to alter the course of your friendship with kai. you groan; you should’ve thought of that before hooking up with him. you lean your head against the shower wall, shutting your eyes tight. rationality only comes to you at the worst times.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility. 

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop 

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both. 

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that just you can’t quite itch yourself, barely sated by these comments. 

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession. 

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight. 

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon. 

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get. 

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university. 

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well. 

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession. 

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch. 

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain. 

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place. 

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day. 

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find. 

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now. 

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars. 

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing. 

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it. 

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down. 

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera. 

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to  find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy. 

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy. 

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more. 

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!” 

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.  

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might. 

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone. 

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain? 

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route. 

You always do. 

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request. 

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall. 

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others. 

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation. 

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home. 

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P 

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > < 

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3 

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing. 

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball. 

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp. 

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box. 

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.” 

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table. 

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay. 

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.  

“Need to charge my phone!” 

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back. 

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months. 

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins. 

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word. 

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore. 

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh. 

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head. 

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him. 

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it. 

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.  

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher. 

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start. 

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out. 

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now. 

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down. 

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together. 

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him. 

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!” 

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop. 

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.  

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–  

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.” 

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site. 

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue. 

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air. 

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly. 

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind. 

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start. 

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.  

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out. 

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes. 

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous. 

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again. 

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked? 

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this. 

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth. 

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up. 

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.” 

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more. 

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare. 

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.  

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.” 

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.” 

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible. 

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped. 

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust. 

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly. 

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage. 

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips. 

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you. 

“I’m still gonna stream.”  The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums. 

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his. 

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape. 

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.” 

You blink. 

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”  

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss. 

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee. 

“Okay.” You grin at him.

he's putty.

he's putty, and you're on your knees, blinking up at him innocently with your cute, fluttery lashes, and he's struggling to hold himself up. he's leaning on his desk, palms gripping the wood as you poke and prod him playfully, unzipping his pants with glee.

the dreamiest sighs are leaving his throat, and he feels like all the power and self respect he's ever held for himself floats out of his body, through his balls, and into your hands.

his body temperature is rising so rapidly he swears he's going to get a nosebleed.

now, armin wouldn't call himself an inexperienced virgin. after all, the many, many times he pictured doing this with you in his head have to count for something, right?

but the stream of blood that starts dripping down his nose when you decide to shed your top, (revealing that you weren't wearing a bra), says otherwise.

he feels like your tits are bouncing in his face, and his cock strains impossibly harder against his slacks.

virgin! his body screams at him.

he's facepalming, groaning, hips stuttering as he mumbles incoherent curses, reaching for a tissue. it's almost a parody, maybe an ode to all those comedic pervert scenes in the anime he's been watching.

"okay, calm down," you say, not being able to wipe the stupid grin off your face as you laugh at his antics. "maybe you'd be more comfortable on the bed?"

with his back flat on the plush mattress and a soft pillow cradling his head, armin feels somewhat better. it feels like old times, when you guys would lie next to each other in the soft summer breeze. except now, you're topless, and his cock is out. and you're touching it.

god, you're touching it.

he has to cover his face with his palms out of sheer embarrassment.

you're palming his cock through his boxers, but the implication of skin against skin is driving him crazy. he can't help but buck his hips up every time you apply pressure to his sensitive area.

not only that, but it seems like your hands have some special effect that seem to set off all of his dick's nerves, 'cause the moment your index finger gives his hard-on a little squeeze, his fists are clenching—eyes squeeze shut, bottom lip pulled under his tooth hard enough to draw blood. with the tremors wracking his body and his hips bucking up into your hand like a wild animal...

...he cums.

he cums.

yes, he came. right in his pants.

now he's red in the face, chest heaving up and down while he wheezes like some mindless incel.

he can't believe this. his first sexual encounter, and he's panting and groaning like he just ran a marathon, when he's not even out of his boxers yet.

the darkening patch on his boxers has your jaw dropping, lashes fluttering in shock as you look at him incredulously.

of course, he's embarrassed. he turns impossibly redder, pushing your hand away with a, "don't look at me!" and covering his face with his elbow.

"armin, did you just cum?" you tease. "guess you really are a virgin."

"n-no!" he's swatting your curious hands away, which seek to reveal his face to you.

"don't be ashamed," you say, booping his nose. "it's natural."

it's not natural. he knows that, but he peeks through a gap in his fingers to ask anyways. "it is?"

"sure is." you assure. "and i bet...you can do it again."

he's bigger than you thought.

he's long and thin, pink and pretty. the precum leaking from the tip of his member is almost dreamlike; you're hesitant to touch. but you snap out of your daze, reaching out to smear the clear oozing liquid over the pretty, bulbous head. it’s already slightly damp and sensitive from his previous ejaculation. he hisses immediately at your touch, head shooting back into the pillow, mouth forming an "o" shape.

now you have him in your mouth, slurping on his cock like a popsicle. the lewd squelches of saliva on skin are causing his head to spin with lust, and he's nearly ripping the sheets off his bed with how tightly he's gripping the fabric. every stroke of your tongue is shooting pleasure up his spine, and he feels like he could erupt any second.

he doesn't want to cum. call it hubris, filthy pride, but he just can't bring himself to embarrassment in front of you for the second time today. but your mouth is so soft and squishy, and the plush of your lips on him feel like he’s ascending to the heavens.

"ah! fuck," he curses, tangling his fingers into your hair. you choke lightly, gagging as he pushes you down gently. the scene is erotic, and the slick, wet sounds of your tongue on his phallus is only turning him on more.

come on, armin, you trained for this...don't be a minute man... his silent pleas to himself are lost as his abs clench pathetically.

his eyes screw shut, a huff rolling off his tongue as his back arches up off the bed. but he refuses to let it out, opting to tangle his fist in your hair and lift your suction off of his member. it slides out of your mouth with a pop! and you're blinking at him with the sly eyes of a fox disguised as doe.

you tilt your head innocently. "armin?" gosh, your voice causes his cock to twitch. "something wrong?"

he groans at the loss of his high, but silently praises himself for holding back from temptation. "no, it's just..."

he lifts himself to sit, adjusting his thick-framed glasses so he can see better. you follow, plopping yourself to sit on your knees.

you had long since discarded your bottoms, the newly revealed, pink, lacy panties displaying a wet patch at the front from your rubbing on the mattress. he gulps, tongue darting out to lick the side of his lips. his eyes begin to trace the lush curve of your hips, but upon catching himself, armin immediately averts his gaze. damn perv. he scolds himself. pull yourself together.

he's nervous, rubbing his palms together to ease his anxiety. what if you said no? the edging has his abs still clenching from not finishing, but he's determined to do this the right way.

he knows what should come next. years of consuming josei hentai, rutting into his mattress alone at night, had prepared him (and raised his thirst) for this. of course, he'd never performed it on a real girl, but he's always been a quick learner.

he coughs, clearing his throat, though his voice still cracks at his next words.

"can i- uhm, eat you out?"

worry not children penetration is coming soon...armin isn't ready yet...pt. 3?

“Again. Come on, you know this one.” Armin chided as your legs trembled, your knuckles white as you desperately clung to the bedsheets.

“Nnngh- the aorta is- anterior to- nnngh- the spinal column-“ You gasped out, barely able to keep your thoughts straight as his relentless pace from behind had you careening towards your third climax.

You and Armin had begun regular study sessions to help your grade in the anatomy lab you were both in. Although he had somewhat non traditional methods of teaching, you had to admit the “lessons” had actually been helping. Of course, the nights always started the same way- textbooks and pages of notes strewn over the coffee table, diagrams taped to the wall, Armin’s comically large pointer that he used in his lessons. You’d started to see another side to him beyond the nerdy, quiet facade. And through the nights spent studying (and not studying), you couldn’t help but to become charmed by his passion for knowledge.

“Better. One more, then you can come. Can you do that for me?” A resounding slap echoed around the cramped dorm room, quickly bringing you back to the present.

You whined and nodded against the mattress, struggling to form words as he pounded into your aching core. Heat spread across your skin from where his hand had made contact, sending shocks of pleasure through you. You weren’t sure if you were gonna make it, between the pop quiz and the delicious overstimulation as he continued his pace, kissing your womb with every stroke.

“Mmm- Armin, please-“ You choked out, his grip on your soft hip tightening. He adored your curves, and he took every opportunity to show you that.

He smiled and hummed, his hips stuttering slightly at your needy, breathy voice. He leaned down over your back, gently lifting your hair away from your face.

“I know, I know. You’re doing so well- nngh- just a little more, okay?” His voice had softened, but still carried the quiet assertiveness you’d grown accustomed to.

He grabbed your hips as he straightened up again, supporting your body as your legs trembled helplessly. He also took this opportunity to drive into you with renewed vigor, pulling you back onto him with each thrust.

“Armin!” You cried out, your core pulsing desperately for release.

“One more, an easy one, okay? Posterior.” He watched your beautifully wrecked form, gasping and writhing with pleasure as you tried to give him an answer. He smiled to himself, his pride swelling seeing the product of his hard work.

You moaned, dropping your head against the soft sheets as you wracked your brain- or what was left of it- for an answer. Suddenly you felt one of his hands snake around your body, finding your aching bundle of nerves and giving it a soft touch. The pleasure shot through you, the pressure building in your abdomen reaching an impossible level.

“T-the lungs- nnngh, f-fuck-“ You managed to garble out, your eyes rolling back into your head. “P-posterior to the heart!”

He grinned, pleased with your answer. He would correct the technicalities later, when he had access to a diagram.

“There you go, good girl.” He felt his own climax rapidly approaching, and he held on desperately to get you there first. He began circling your clit with his fingers in tight circles, building that gentle pressure that he knew would send you over the edge. “Come on now, come for me. Let me hear your sweet voice again.”

You gasped, the tension building up and bursting the moment the words left his mouth. Your walls fluttered and clenched, waves of pleasure crashing over you as your juices dripped down your thighs. He moaned at the sight, your flushed, wrecked, trembling body completely at his mercy.

After a few more thrusts his hips stuttered, a soft groan escaping his lips as he spilled his hot seed inside of you. Panting, he guided you onto your side and wrapped his arms around you, leaving soft kisses on your shoulder as you caught your breath.

“See? I knew you could do it. Adding a reward makes it much easier for your brain to remember things.” He whispered, his breath tickling your ear.

“Mmm, yeah. It’s definitely been working.” You smiled, settling in against his warm chest. “My grade went from a D to a C. We only go up from here, right?”

He grinned, nodding. “That’s right. And your grades aren’t the only thing that’s only going up…”

Your eyes widened and you turned around, a mix of amusement and horror in your expression. He laughed, pulling you in to him and kissing your forehead.

“Later, you earned a break.” His smile softened as he looked at you, tired out in his arms. You huffed and nodded, cozying into the blankets.

“That’s right. Between studying and keeping up with you, I’m wiped out. You know…” Your voice trailed off, and Armin raised his eyebrow.

“Know what?” He prodded, poking your side.

“For someone who’s known for being the quiet nerd type, you’re really quite… How do I put it…”

“What, you thought I wouldn’t know my way around your body? You’re not too hard to crack, I just needed to pay attention to your cute little responses… Like this.” He slowly dragged a finger down your side, sending shivers across your skin. You groaned, turning your head to look at him.

“Armin…” You whined, your eyes wide and pleading. He chuckled, nodding.

“I know, I know, it’s time to rest. Get some sleep, I already set an alarm.” He draped a blanket over both of you, pulling a pillow down and gently resting your head on it.

“Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”

Armin downright whimpers when you silence his protest with a soft giggle and press your lips to his again, cupping his cheek like you’re trying to ease him into it. He kisses back, but it’s clumsy—his lips too hesitant, his breath shaky. The way his slightly clammy hands tremble as they slide awkwardly onto your waist gives him away completely. His fingers twitch like he’s unsure if he’s even allowed to touch you, like he’s expecting to be jolted awake from some perverse fever dream at any second.

You smile into it. He tastes a little like fruit punch and nerves.

How’d he even end up like this?

Honestly? He’s not entirely sure himself.

All he knows is that about an hour ago, he’d been forcibly dragged out of his safe, sacred little sanctuary—his room—by none other than Eren Jaeger, who’d called him a “shut-in loser” with all the affection of a lifelong best friend trying to get his social recluse ass to touch grass for once. “Just come out for one night,” Eren had said. “You never hang out anymore. You just rot in front of that stupid computer!”

That “stupid computer,” by the way, is the love of Armin’s life. A lovingly hand-built, high-performance rig that he’d spent months putting together with trembling excitement and a YouTube tab permanently open. The tower is pure art—transparent case with perfectly routed cable management, cool-toned RGB fans that change hues with each temperature spike, and a custom water-cooling loop that keeps everything running quieter than a whisper. The inside glows in a soft gradient from blue to violet, illuminating every pristine component like a spaceship console. His mechanical keyboard clicks satisfyingly under his fingers, each custom PBT keycap matte and worn in just enough. The desk is outfitted with dual curved monitors, a steelseries headset perched on a 3D-printed stand, and a carefully arranged line of anime figurines—each one dusted weekly.

He lives there. He thrives there. Not out here.

So when he’d first stepped foot into the frat house—blinking under dim purple lights, instantly accosted by the stench of sweat, alcohol, Axe body spray, and weed—he’d wanted to turn and run. Connie had looped an arm around his neck before he could so much as take a step back, dragging him further inside like a lamb to slaughter.

He would’ve given anything to be home. Back at his setup. Back where he could peacefully queue up for League of Legends or post a hot take on a message board about dungeon tier lists. His teammates were probably on Discord right now, wondering why his little green light hadn’t turned on tonight.

That was then.

Somehow– Somehow, in the haze of being drunk or high out of their minds— Eren was out of it, Connie was asleep on Sasha’s lap, whose head was on a knocked out Jean’s shoulder. Mikasa, for how composed she usually was, was slumped next to Eren, his hand wrapped around hers— you had managed to finally snag the shy boy to yourself.

You’d only recently started hanging out with the gang, weaving your way into their circle with a kind of natural confidence Armin found both mesmerizing and terrifying. You’re funny. Loud in a charming way. You speak your mind, talk to Eren and Mikasa like you’ve known them for years, and make sly little jokes that leave Connie wheezing. Even Sasha likes you—and she doesn’t like anyone new.

But around you, Armin turns into scrambled code. He avoids eye contact. Stumbles over his words. Does that thing where he pushes up his glasses like a reflex even when they’re already in place.

And it wasn’t hard to realize that Armin liked you.

He wasn’t subtle—not in the way he’d glance up from his phone screen when you laughed a little too loudly, or the way his ears would burn pink every time you plopped down next to him during hangouts, hips brushing, thighs touching just barely. He'd sit there stiffly, eyes wide behind his glasses, thumbs still tapping away at whatever gacha game or tactics RPG he was grinding, pretending not to notice how your perfume clung to the air between you like static.

You’d catch him staring sometimes—well, more than sometimes. Once when you bent over to grab a charger, and again when you wore that cropped shirt with the worn-out neckline, his gaze getting stuck right where your collarbone dipped into something just a bit more scandalous. But he’d always look away just in time, pretending to clean his glasses or scroll deeper into Reddit threads.

The boy was practically a walking Tumblr post from 2013. Always in those oversized hoodies with the sleeves too long, fingers tucked halfway into the cuffs, his laptop stickers flaking off from years of aggressive clicking. His room, as you’d come to discover later, was nothing short of a digital command center. Dual monitors—one vertical, one horizontal—cast a cold RGB glow over his unmade bed and tangle of charging cables. His mechanical keyboard clicked loud enough to echo through the dorm floor, each keystroke deliberate. Rows of Funko Pops lined the top of his bookshelf, mostly anime characters and one out-of-place Miku figurine he shyly claimed was "cute."

And that chair—God, that chair. It was one of those ridiculous ergonomic gaming thrones with a headrest, a lumbar support pillow, and armrests that he always adjusted like he was gearing up for war. You could tell it was his pride and joy, considering how he refused to let anyone else sit in it. Except, of course, for that one time you snuck in during a group hangout and plopped down in it just to see how far he’d go before breaking—he just stood there, mouth open, shifting awkwardly until he gave up and sat on the floor beside you. Pathetic. Adorable.

So yeah, it wasn’t hard to realize Armin liked you. He was just painfully obvious about it in a way that made you all the more obsessed.

Especially after that day Eren—loud-mouthed, smug Eren—dropped the most shocking bit of information mid-conversation over nachos and beer.

“Guess who finally let me bully him into getting a tongue piercing?”

Your head had snapped around so fast it almost gave you whiplash. "You're kidding."

Eren had just grinned like the devil himself. “Nope. Took him to the place on 8th. Cried like a bitch but hey, he’s got it now.”

You’d turned to look at Armin, who was red as a tomato, sipping his Sprite like he wished he could disappear behind the carbonation. He didn’t even deny it.

You haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

Which brings you to now.

So when all of a sudden, you're sitting next to him on the too-small couch, murmuring something about there being something wrong with your phone, and desperately needing someone to fix it for you, and no, the dim lighting of the living room simply isn’t enough to inspect it properly—you somehow manage to drag him upstairs to one of the empty rooms, thigh pressed a little too close to his as you explain how glitchy your phone is, how you're so sure it must be some kind of weird virus, and wow, isn't that so crazy?

But cut the bullshit. Even Armin knew you were lying.

Phone glitching? Yeah, right. He’d seen your screen time stats by accident once—your camera roll was 95% front-facing selfies, memes, and blurry videos from nights out. He wasn’t stupid. But he was clueless—at least about your intentions.

You’d had a thing for him since day one, not that he knew, obviously. The first time Eren had pulled you into the fold, dragging you into their little friend group like some shiny new accessory, Armin had looked at you like you’d be gone by next week. He wasn’t good with new people—too shy, too stiff, too used to lurking in the background with his legs folded crisscross on the floor and his thumbs tapping away at his phone while everyone else drank and talked over each other.

Even now, when everyone hung out, Armin would be half-present—physically there, tucked into the corner of the room with his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, but mentally god knows where. Probably grinding a mobile RPG or replying to a fan theory thread. He liked games where he could build things, micromanage every stat. His phone battery was always draining because he never stopped playing. Long, elegant fingers constantly moving, tapping, swiping. Even when you sat next to him, he couldn’t seem to stop. You once made a joke about how he probably tapped faster during battles than he would during sex.

You remember the way he’d choked on his Redbull.

But now—now he’s stuck. Sitting next to you in a quiet upstairs room, your perfume in his lungs, your thigh pressed right up against his, and your phone held limply between you both like some half-hearted prop.

He keeps glancing at you, lips parted like he wants to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.

“You gonna fix it or just keep staring at my lockscreen?” you tease, your voice low, syrupy sweet.

He blinks, startled, fumbling to grab the phone from your hands with a stuttered apology. “S-Sorry, I—um—yeah, let me just… check the settings, I guess.”

His hands shake slightly as he scrolls, and you bite your lip watching him. The way his jaw tenses, his brows furrow in concentration—it’s endearing. You wonder if he knows how flushed his ears are. You wonder if he knows how loud his breathing is.

You lean in just slightly, enough that your breath brushes the shell of his ear.

“You know,” you murmur, “I still haven’t seen that piercing.”

His entire body jolts. His fingers fumble the phone, almost dropping it in his lap. “W-What?”

You smile innocently, like you don’t already know exactly what you’re doing. “Your tongue. Eren told me. Kinda wanna see it for myself.”

Armin swallows hard, eyes wide as he looks at you like you just asked him to strip naked. “I-I mean, it’s not—It’s nothing, really. I-it’s just… uh…”

“C’mon,” you coax, fingers brushing the side of his knee. “I’m curious.”

He hesitates. Then, shakily, he sticks his tongue out just a little—just enough for the cool glint of metal to catch the light. Your stomach flips.

God, you didn’t expect that to be so hot. On him, of all people.

“You’re full of surprises, Armin Arlert,” you whisper, eyes meeting his.

And you swear to god, if you didn’t know better, you’d say the look in his eyes shifts. Just a little. Like something in him snaps or gives in. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“…Is your phone actually broken?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You grin. “Not even a little.”

And for once—for once—Armin smirks.

It's crooked. Barely there. But it's smug in the quietest, most devastating way, because he knows now. You're not here because of some bullshit glitch or broken screen. You're here for him.

The second you lean in, brushing a strand of his blond hair out of his face, he freezes—like a deer caught in headlights. His breath hitches, lips parting just slightly, and his fingers tense where they’re still holding your phone like it’s a lifeline.

“You’ve never kissed anyone before,” you say softly, not a question. Just an observation.

His cheeks flush bright red. He doesn’t answer.

You cock your head, smiling. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

His breath catches again, sharp and audible this time, and he shifts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands—does he drop your phone? Hold it? Hold you?

You take the decision away for him, gently slipping it from his fingers and setting it down on the nightstand. Then, without breaking eye contact, you slowly slide onto his lap, one knee at a time, until you’re straddling his narrow hips, hands settling on his shoulders.

His whole body goes stiff. “Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”

You kiss his lips again, silencing him effectively.

“Armin,” you say as you pull back, voice low and amused. “Relax.”

He doesn’t. Not entirely. But his hands hover awkwardly near your waist now, like he’s trying to be respectful, like he’s afraid if he touches you wrong, the moment will combust.

You lean forward, just enough that your noses nearly brush.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

He obeys, lashes fluttering shut. You let your lips graze his, soft and tentative, barely a kiss at all—just enough for him to taste your breath, to feel the warmth of you against his mouth.

He shivers.

You pull back slightly, your voice like silk against his ear. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He exhales shakily. “It’s… it’s good. You’re… good.”

You smile. “You haven’t even gotten the full lesson yet.”

And then you kiss him.

Really kiss him.

You press your mouth against his fully this time, slow and confident, your lips moving gently over his like you’ve got all the time in the world. He kisses back clumsily at first, a little too much pressure, a little off with the rhythm, but it’s adorable, and you can feel the way his whole body trembles under you.

You guide him with quiet murmurs between kisses. “Slower… softer, yeah… there. Just like that.”

His hands finally land on your waist, unsure at first, then a little firmer when you deepen the kiss, your fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. You part your lips slowly, and when he instinctively mimics you—nervous, but curious—you feel it.

The smooth, cool ball of metal.

You pause just barely, lips still brushing his, a grin curling at the corners of your mouth. “There it is.”

“Huh?” he whispers, dazed.

“That piercing,” you murmur, voice thick with heat. “Feels so fucking good.”

You kiss him again, and this time your tongue finds his. The sensation of the cold stud sliding against yours sends a sharp little jolt straight through your spine. It’s addictive. You roll your hips slightly against his, and he gasps into your mouth, fingers tightening on your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to pull you closer or push you away.

He tastes like mint and nervous energy, and the little helpless noises he lets out when you suck on his bottom lip are enough to make your thighs clench around his lap.

You pull back for a second, just to look at him. His lips are flushed, slightly swollen, eyes glazed with something between awe and pure panic.

“You okay?” you whisper, thumb brushing across his cheek.

He nods, almost too fast. “Y-Yeah. I just—I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You lean in again, lips ghosting over his jaw. “That’s just the beginning.”

He groans—actually groans—and it’s the hottest fucking sound you’ve ever heard from him. You swear you feel him twitch beneath you. His hips shift slightly, involuntarily, and the friction makes both of you gasp.

You grab a fistful of his hoodie, tugging him back into another kiss, messier this time. Less structured. All tongue and heat and shallow breaths. That piercing catches on your lip as you suck on his tongue, and you moan softly against his mouth.

He's kissing you like he wants to prove something now. Still hesitant, still learning, but eager. Hungry. His hands slide up under your shirt, still shy but bolder than before, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin of your waist.

You roll your hips against him again, deliberately this time, and the noise he makes—somewhere between a whimper and a curse—goes straight to your core.

You smile into the kiss, breathless. “You’re such a quick learner.”

He swallows thickly. “I—I wanna keep learning.”

“Yeah?” You rock against him again, and his eyes flutter shut. “You will.”

You dip your head to press a kiss to his neck, right below his jaw. He gasps, tilting his head back like it’s instinct, and you suck a slow, wet mark into the pale skin, making him jolt beneath you.

“You’re so sensitive,” you whisper. “Bet I could make you fall apart with just my mouth.”

He whimpers.

And fuck, that sound does something to you.

You're grinding against him now, fully, the heat between your legs pressing right against the growing bulge in his pants. The way his hips buck up helplessly, like he can’t stop himself, is intoxicating.

You mouth at his jaw, then his ear, letting your breath tickle the shell of it.

“Armin,” you purr, “do you want me to show you more?”

He looks up at you like he’s ready to beg.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Please. Show me everything.”

You don’t make him ask twice.

You kiss him again, deep and slow, feeling the way he melts into it now. No hesitation—just heat, want, and the softest desperation in how his mouth opens for you like he’s starving. You taste that metal ball again, glide your tongue along it, and the sound he makes—fuck, you’re obsessed.

Your hips move instinctively, grinding down on his lap, and you can feel him. Hard. Pressed right up against your core through his worn out jeans and your shorts. The friction draws a moan from your throat that has his eyes fluttering open, pupils blown wide.

“Fuck,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “You’re so hard already.”

He nods, frantic, breath stuttering. “I—yeah, I can’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh.” You cup his jaw, tilt his face up. “Don’t be embarrassed. You think I didn’t want that?”

You shift just a little, rolling your hips down with purpose, dragging your clothed pussy against his cock. He chokes on a gasp, his fingers digging into your waist like he’s trying to stop himself from bucking up into you again. You grab his hand, beckoning him to slip his fingers under your shorts, under the waistband of your panties.

“Feel how wet I am for you?” you murmur, lips brushing his ear.

He nods again, helpless. “Yeah—yeah, I feel it—fuck—”

You smile wickedly and grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one motion. His mouth drops open.

He stares.

Hard.

Like he’s short-circuiting. Like he’s never seen anyone naked before and can’t figure out where to look. His hands twitch like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

You guide them to your tits.

“Touch me, baby,” you say softly. “It’s okay. You can.”

He swallows hard and palms your breasts gently, reverently, like he’s afraid to squeeze too hard. His thumbs ghost over your nipples and you sigh, arching your back into his touch, giving him a show.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes.

“You’re cute,” you reply, pushing your hips down again. “And obedient.”

He whimpers at that.

You roll your hips slow and steady, grinding on him until you feel his thighs start to tremble beneath you.

Then you lean down, lips brushing his. “I want you to eat me out.”

His eyes widen. “I—what? I’ve never—”

“I’ll guide you. Just do what I say.”

You’re already sliding off his lap, standing between his legs and shimmying your shorts and underwear down in one motion. His breath stutters when he sees you like that, bare and dripping, your thighs glistening in the low light.

You make a move to lie back on the bed, but he stops you, pink in the face.

“S–Sorry, I– ah– Can you ride my face? Please?”

He looks like he wants to wipe his existence off the planet because why’d he say that in such a high pitched tone, why’d he stutter like that, why’d his voice crack when he said please, why'd he—

But you just giggle amusedly, pushing him back onto the bed, straddling his face.

His whole body tenses like he’s trying not to combust. “Are you sure you’re okay with thi—?”

You don’t answer. Just lower your hips slowly until you’re hovering just above his mouth.

“Open up.”

He does, and when your pussy presses against his lips, you sigh like it’s relief. He’s clumsy at first—licking too shallow, too soft—but you guide him. “Use your tongue. Flatten it—yeah, just like that. A little harder. Good. Fuck, Armin.”

The moment his tongue finds your clit, you moan, your hips jolting forward. And the pressure of that cold little ball dragging against your most sensitive spot?

It’s over.

You’re grinding on his face now, fingers buried in his soft blond hair, riding him through sloppy, wet licks and messy kisses that leave your thighs shaking. He moans beneath you, hands gripping your hips like he’s into it, like the taste of you is something he wants to memorize. His piercing continuously flicks against your clit, making you whine and shudder, thighs clamping around his head. And soon enough, you’re coming all over his tongue, his name leaving your mouth prettily.

He’s hard again—probably never stopped being hard—and when you finally can’t take it anymore, you slide down his body and palm him through his jeans.

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes wide as you feel the outline of him. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

He covers his face with one arm, flushed and overwhelmed. “I didn’t know I’d get like that so fast.”

“You’re adorable.” You lean down and press a kiss just above his waistband. “Let me take care of you.”

He whimpers again.

And when you tug his jeans down, his cock bounces free—hard, flushed, leaking at the tip. You stroke him once, slow and firm, and his whole body jolts.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, hands fisting the sheets. “I—I don’t think I can—”

“You can.” You kiss the head of his cock, swirl your tongue around it just once, and watch him squirm.

Then you straddle him again.

“Wait—” he gasps. “Are you—are we really—”

You line him up with your entrance, slow and steady, and you moan when the tip slips in.

“Fuck yes, baby,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you sink down inch by inch. “You’re inside me.”

He’s panting, chest rising and falling like he’s about to pass out. “You feel… holy shit…”

“Tight?” you tease, grinding down once you’re seated fully.

He nods, eyes wide, mouth open. “I’m not gonna last—”

“You’ll learn,” you murmur, starting to move. “I’m gonna teach you everything.”

And as you ride him—slow, deliberate, dragging every sweet sound out of him—you know for a fact that this won’t be the last lesson. You bounce up and down on him, watching with a gaze full of lust and amusement as he croons your name, head thrown back, drool escaping the side of his lip, thick glasses askew.

He looks like he’s unraveling. Like his brain stopped functioning five minutes ago. Like all he can focus on is the way your cunt squeezes him every time you drop down.

“F-Fuck, you feel so good,” he whimpers, voice cracking with raw need. “I c-can’t… I’m not gonna last…”

You lean forward, letting your chest brush against his, your lips brushing his mouth as you whisper, “That’s okay. Just give it to me.”

His hands are shaking where they grip your hips, but he tries to match your rhythm anyway, pulling you down harder every time your ass slaps against his thighs. He’s trying so hard to keep it together for you—sweet, trembling thing, so eager to please despite how close he is.

“I–I’m gonna– I’m gonna– I don’t have a condom on, I—”

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, kissing the edge of his jaw, tongue flicking over his pulse point. “Just pull out, baby. I’ve got you.”

And it’s like your voice alone is enough to break him.

His grip tightens—frantic, bruising—and you barely have time to lift off before he comes, gasping your name like a prayer. Thick ropes spill over his stomach, twitching cock pulsing as he groans and writhes beneath you, flushed and utterly wrecked. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose, and he’s too dazed to fix them.

You exhale through a low laugh, trailing your fingers through his release before bringing them to your mouth and sucking them clean, just to tease him. His breath stutters at the sight, and his eyes roll slightly as he pants beneath you.

You collapse next to him, both of you catching your breath in the quiet, sticky air. The room smells like sweat and sex and faint body spray, and outside the door you can still hear the low thrum of party music, muffled now like the two of you are in a different world entirely.

He’s quiet. Still. Hands awkwardly covering himself, glasses pushed to the side. You catch the way his lashes flutter, how red his cheeks are, how he refuses to meet your eyes.

You turn on your side, resting your head on one hand. “What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard. “That was my first time,” he says softly. “Like… all of it. Kissing, sex, everything.”

You pause, the weight of his admission settling into the space between you. He glances up at you finally, face filled with anxiety.

“I… I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

Your heart aches a little.

You reach out and gently remove his glasses, setting them on the nightstand, then cradle his face in your hand.

“Armin,” you say, voice low and sincere, “that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. You have no idea.”

He blinks, surprised.

“You were perfect,” you say, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “And I like that it was me. I like being the first.”

His face turns even redder, if that’s possible. “I–I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

“That’s the fun part.” You smile, brushing a strand of his hair off his forehead. “Means I get to teach you everything.”

He hides his face against your shoulder, groaning. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh softly, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re such a cutie.”

You lay there together in the silence for a while, his head nestled against your chest, his arms tentatively curling around you like he’s not sure he’s allowed to hold you yet. You run your fingers through his hair, gently tugging here and there, and you feel him relax more and more under your touch.

“You still nervous?” you murmur after a while.

“A little,” he admits, voice muffled. “I just… I’ve never done this. Any of it. I don’t want to mess things up with you.”

You kiss the top of his head. “You’re not. I like you.”

He lifts his head to look at you, shy but hopeful. “Really?”

“Mhm.” You brush your lips against his again. “I’ve liked you since I saw you trailing behind Eren with your stupid oversized hoodie and your Switch in your hands like you were allergic to human interaction.”

He laughs, sheepish. “I kind of am.”

You grin. “And I kind of love that.”

He watches you for a moment, eyes soft and a little awestruck. Then he leans forward, kisses you with all the gentleness and hesitance of someone who’s just now realizing he might be falling for someone, and you smile into it, warm and full and smug.

Because you know you’ve got him.

—

It’s official now. You’re Armin’s girlfriend.

It had happened somewhere between all the blushing kisses and stolen glances and slow, breathy I like you’s whispered in the privacy of his bedroom. There was no dramatic confession, no rose petals or fireworks. Just him looking at you one afternoon with that overwhelmed, adoring gaze, thumb brushing over your knuckles while he mumbled, “Do you, um… want to be mine? Like… officially?”

And you’d kissed him stupid in response.

So now, two weeks later, you’re at his place again, perched sideways on his lap in his gaming chair, legs draped over one armrest while his are stretched beneath the desk, twitching slightly every time something exciting happens on screen.

You’re wearing one of his hoodies—big, soft, and smelling like fabric softener and his shampoo—and nothing else underneath. Which he hasn’t noticed. Yet.

His focus is laser-sharp, blue eyes narrowed behind his glasses, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth like he’s fighting for his life on whatever boss battle he’s got going. You shift a little, trying to get comfortable in his lap, but he doesn’t even flinch—just grunts something about “just give me a second, babe, I’m in the middle of something.”

And yeah, it’s a little infuriating. But also?

Ridiculously hot.

Like, his headset is way too big on him. He keeps muttering things under his breath about cooldowns and mechanics and DPS output. His fingers are flying across the keys, long and elegant and twitchy, like they were built to type essays at the speed of sound or code random passion projects no one ever asked for.

At one point, he actually shushes you. A little breathy “waitwaitwait– babe, hold on, this guy’s cheesing—oh my god I swear to god if this fucking healer dies I’m gonna—”

You blink. Then snort.

“You’re so nerdy,” you murmur, voice laced with amusement, “I can’t believe this is my boyfriend.”

He doesn’t look up. “You knew what I was when you signed up.”

“Oh, I did.” You lean in, dragging your fingers up the nape of his neck, just under the headset. “And I like it.”

He shudders a little. “You’re distracting me.”

“I know.”

Still, he plays. Fidgety, intense, mouthing instructions to himself like some kind of adorable, socially anxious commander. You watch the screen for a bit, half-understanding what’s happening—some massive raid, particles flying everywhere, his team yelling in the Discord chat you can hear leaking through his headphones. Armin doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s surprisingly confident. Precise.

“No, back left! You kite, I’ll stun—good—shit, I got hit, that’s fine, I’ve got mana—”

You shift again. This time a little more deliberately.

His hands pause on the keyboard. “...Are you doing that on purpose?”

You blink at him innocently. “Doing what?”

“You’re… squirming.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “I’m just trying to sit comfortably, Armin. Your thighs are kinda bony.”

“I—what? I—”

He falters. And you know he’s starting to get flustered. Because his hand slips on his mouse, and he curses softly under his breath as his character takes a hit onscreen.

“Can’t believe I’m being insulted and sabotaged right now,” he mumbles.

“I’m your girlfriend,” you remind him, turning so you’re fully straddling him now, knees on either side of his hips, “it’s in the job description.”

He swallows thickly. You can feel him beneath you now—half-hard already, tension building the longer you stay in his lap.

“Please let me finish this fight,” he whispers, jaw tight.

You kiss the edge of it.

“Okay.”

So you wait. Sort of.

You shift again. Start pressing little kisses to his throat. Let your fingers toy with the edge of his shirt, lifting it just slightly. Not enough to distract him fully. Just enough to make him sweat.

By the time he finally mutters a breathless, “Got him, holy shit,” and slumps back in the chair, he’s panting and flushed—and not just from the game.

You lean in, both hands planted on his chest now, smiling sweetly.

“All done?”

He nods.

“Good.” And then you roll your hips once against his, slow and deliberate.

He makes a soft, broken sound in his throat. “Y-You’re evil.”

“Mmhm,” you hum, dipping down to kiss him again, this time deeper, tongue teasing the edge of that stupid metal piercing he still refuses to tell you the story behind.

It’s so easy to ruin him.

His hands flutter uselessly for a second before they land on your hips, gripping like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to touch you. You grind down harder, and he whines into your mouth, glasses fogging up, hips twitching like he’s not in control of his own body anymore.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice high and shaking. “I’m—I was just trying to game.”

“You’ll live,” you whisper, licking into his mouth again. “Besides… I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me.”

He groans.

And you know right then, without a doubt, this little nerd is already obsessed with you. Completely and utterly whipped.

author's note: HELL YEAH I LOVE NERDIFYING ANIME MEN!!!! fantastic give me 14 more of them bzzzzz

seriously when i saw this fanart the first thing i did was open up google docs and get my ass to WORK i feel like by now its really obvious i have a thing for nerds :3

You’ve long since reconciled with Minghao’s tendencies when it came to his academics and his art. With a half roll of your eyes, you settle down onto the couch next to him. The offending assignment stares up at you. 

“It’s not bad,” you say as you eye the piece. In your honest opinion, it really isn’t terrible. A part of you must admit, though, that it’s not really up to Minghao’s usual standard. The strokes are not as defined; the edges are a little rough. 

What’s supposed to be a piece for his The Art of the Human Form class looks more like something akin to abstract impressionism. 

Minghao lets out a low sound of displeasure at your feedback. “You don’t understand,” he says frustratedly. 

When you don’t immediately respond, he runs a hand over his face. “Sorry,” he sighs. “I just— I really need to pass this class.” 

You give him a reassuring pat on his knee. For a moment, the two of you just sit on the couch, staring down at the homework that’s brought him so much grief. “What’s your issue with the class, anyway?” you ask after a long moment of silence. “Is it the professor?” 

“No, the professor’s good. Great, even.” 

“Your material?” 

“That’s never been the problem.” 

“Well, what is it then?”

A groan slides past Minghao’s lips; he lets his head fall on to the back of the couch. You turn to glance at him and you see the way his face is contorted with defeat. The words he speaks next sound like they were an actual struggle for him to verbalize.

“I’m not good with live models,” he admits. A beat. He seems to realize that you’ll see right through him, so he adds, “Nude live models.” 

You sink your teeth into your lower lip. Minghao catches the telltale sign of you holding back your laughter and he turns to glance at you again. “What?” he grumbles.

“You’re too… polite, Hao,” you say delicately, leaning back against the couch until your shoulders are pressed against each other. 

“You think I’m a prude.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You were thinking it. ‘Polite’ was just your way of letting me down gently.” 

This time, you don’t hold back the fond giggle that escapes you. It was no secret that Minghao was a bit of a prig. When asked about his lack of experience with dating or intimacy, his answer had always been the same: Too busy. Too busy with uni to fuck around and find out, to mess with people he didn’t really care about. 

Some of Minghao’s annoyance seems to ebb at the sound of your laughter. He gives a slight shake of his head like he’s ridding himself of an unbidden thought before saying, “Maybe I should just drop the damn class.” 

You nudge him in the side with your elbow. “You’ve never given up on anything in your life,” you chide. “Don’t start now.” 

The platitude does very little to lift Minghao’s mood. He goes into a rapid-fire tangent about his gripes with the class, ranting about everything from the models to his coursemates. You zone out a bit— knowing it was sometimes for the best to let your best friend go on and on— until you feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket. 

Right. You had a study session. 

You try to extricate yourself from the conversation by cutting through Minghao’s tirade with an absentminded, “Well, if you ever need my help, you know where to find me.” 

That shuts him up. 

“Wha— what?” he stammers. 

Both of you fall into a terse moment of silence. It’s like you’ve just realized what you said, what you’ve implied, and you mentally curse yourself for spacing out to the point that you’ve suggested something so out of left field. 

You rise from the couch without glancing down at Minghao; a part of you thinks this might give you some more courage to double down, to feign nonchalance. “If you need any help with the class,” you say as breezily as you can manage. “Like, if you need somebody to model for you or something.” 

There’s an almost distressed way to how Minghao says your name, then. “I’m supposed to work with nude models,” he repeats, like he’s not unsure you caught it the first time. 

“I’m aware.” 

“Are you—” 

“Only if you need it, Hao. It’s not that deep.” 

It is kind of that deep, honestly. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of its chest, but you do your damndest to keep your expression neutral as you go to grab your things. You’ve never been so grateful to have a valid excuse to cut your time short with your roommate. 

“If it’ll help you stop complaining,” you joke in a bid to inject some levity in the conversation. “Then I’m all for it.” 

He only lets out a disgruntled mumble in response. His words are incoherent, lost in the way you’re already halfway out the door. 

You call out your usual goodbye. “Text me what you want for dinner.” 

His typical response— “Take care”— hits just as the front door closes behind you. You might’ve imagined it, you think, but Minghao’s voice sounded just a little bit strained around the two words. 

It takes Minghao two weeks to come to a decision. 

Clearing his mind helped, but it’s really the most recent graded assignment that gets underneath his skin. A ‘C’. Minghao has never gotten a ‘C’ in all of his years of art school.

You’re working on something by the dining table when Minghao bursts into your shared apartment. 

“Does the offer still stand?” he spits out before he can change his mind. 

“Hm?” You glance up at Minghao, unsuspecting as ever. “What, getting pizza for dinner? I mean, yeah.” 

Your nightly text exchanges about what to have for dinner is the last thing on his mind. He takes a fortifying breath, his fingers clutching tightly around the strap of his messenger bag. 

“Not dinner,” he grits out. “The other offer.” 

Good Lord, he thinks with despair as you stare up at him skeptically. I’m really going to have to spell this out. 

He decides to go for the ‘show, don’t tell’ route. He fishes through his bag until his fingers snag his latest graded homework. Wordlessly, he crosses the room and sets it down next to your laptop. 

Your expression of confusion gives way to one of something that resembles sympathy. “Oh, Hao,” you say, and the words grate in his ears.

“I don’t need your pity.” His sharp words are dulled by the way he’s raised his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose in a gesture of sheer exhaustion. “I just need to practice.” 

The realization of your flippant offer being taken seriously seems to dawn on you. Minghao wants to die then and there. He’s already backtracking, attempting to take it back before you can say a word. 

“Forget it,” he says. He can only hope his ears don’t look as red as they feel. “That was stupid.” 

Your hasty call of “no, no” has him freezing. “Sorry, I just— wasn’t expecting it tonight,” you say. 

Minghao can’t even look you in the eye without wanting to die of shame. You go on, your voice cautious as ever. “The offer still stands. Of course it still stands.” 

He attempts to sputter out some words about you not having to do this, about not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you’re already getting to your feet. “Don’t make this weird,” you reprimand him. 

“But this is weird,” he protests weakly.

“I’m your roommate. I’m your best friend!”

“That’s precisely why this is weird.” 

You’re standing in front of him, now, trying to rearrange your expression into one of sternness. It doesn’t really do much, considering the way you’re at least a head shorter than him. 

“I’m the best shot you’ve got.” You plant your hands on your sides and tilt your chin up. There’s a hint of a challenge in your gaze. “So what’ll it be, Xu?” 

“No need to pull out the surname,” he says dryly. After going through a single, quiet prayer in his head, he jerks his head towards the living room. “Let’s go at it, then.” 

“Now?” 

“When else?” 

It’s your turn to blush this time. Minghao tries his darndest to keep a straight face as you stumble over your complaint. “I haven’t showered yet—” 

“That’s nothing new to me,” he shoots back, earning him a swat to the chest. He rubs at the spot you hit before grumbling, “Fine, fine. How long do you need to get ready?” 

“I’ll be quick,” you promise him as you dart off to the bathroom. Minghao resists the urge to say that he doubts it. 

His worries aren’t unfounded. By the time you emerge from your ‘quick’ shower, over half an hour has passed. He’s doodling absentmindedly in his sketchbook when he hears the door creak open. 

“About goddamn—” The last word catches in his throat as he turns to face you. 

Minghao has seen you in various states of undress in your years of friendship. He’s seen you in the skimpiest outfits before heading out clubbing, seen you in sinful bikinis during your yearly beach trips. But this? The sight of you in a beige bathrobe with the belt left untied, revealing a hint of your bare front? 

He clutches his pencil so tightly that he’s scared it’ll snap. 

“About time,” he manages, even though he’s not entirely clear what he’s referring to.

It takes an hour for you to regret your offer. 

Once the initial shyness had passed, all that was left was the restlessness. Minghao had put one of the dining room chairs in the living room for you to pose on, and you’ve spent the better half of the past sixty minutes just sitting there with your feet flat to the ground.

It’s surprisingly easy to comply with Minghao’s mumbled requests. Shift a little to the left. Move your hand to your thigh. Stop moving. 

The last command is muttered with a lot more frequency. When you try to cross your legs. Stop moving. When you go to scratch your elbow. Stop moving. When your eyes wander over to some nondescript point in the room. Stop moving. 

“You’re brutal,” you rumble after his nth ‘stop moving, please’. “This is inhumane.” 

“You signed up for this,” Minghao answers, his gaze briefly flitting over his sketchbook before going back to his work.

There’s something undeniably attractive about the way Minghao’s fingers are clutching his graphite pencil. A lot about him was attractive— the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the purse of his plump lips as he worked. But his fingers were a whole other monster all together. Long and lithe, with the nails painted to whatever he thought matched his flavor for the week. You can almost imagine what those fingers would look like in your—

Minghao drags you out of your unbidden daydream with a call of your name.

“Could you tilt a bit to your right?” he says gruffly. You scramble to comply, almost like you’re terrified he might have heard your thoughts if you didn’t move fast enough.

He lets out a small ‘tch’ of disapproval at just how much you twist. “Not like that,” he protests, putting his pencil down for the first time in the past hour. “Only about an inch. No, no—” 

“Pose me, then.” 

Where did this brazenness come from? You think that your tenseness is partly to blame, but there’s also an undercut of provocation in your tone. Surprise flits across Minghao’s expression for only a moment. 

He schools his expression into something more neutral as he places his sketchbook face down on the couch. This is a bad idea, you think, as he crosses the distance between you in small, measured steps.

It’s a bad idea, you muse, because if he touches you, he might just feel the rapid thump, thump, thump of your pulse. 

If he does notice, he makes no indication of it. His gaze is perfectly cool as he gently holds your shoulders. You can see the pencil marks on the side of his palm, the smudges of graphite transferring to your otherwise unblemished skin. 

Minghao does as you’ve asked. His pushes are light as he maneuvers you to angle yourself some certain way, and you swear there’s not a single breath of oxygen in the room. 

“There,” he’s saying as he goes to take a step back. 

Something akin to panic rises like bile in your throat. You don’t know why, you don’t know what has possessed you, but one of your hands shoots out for Minghao’s retreating form. He pauses when your fingers wrap around his wrist.  

“Where—” The words escaping you are almost a gasp. “Where do you want my hands?” 

Minghao looks down at you, his eyes imperceptibly wider now despite his attempt to keep calm. “Right where you had them,” he replies. 

You swallow around the lump in your throat, your hand sliding down to clasp his instead. “I— forgot where they were,” you say. It’s a lame excuse, but Minghao doesn’t seem like he’s about to call you out on it. “Show me again?” 

His hand is limp in your hold. For a long, terrible minute, you think you’ve overstepped. 

Then, something in Minghao’s jaw twitches. The hand that’s holding yours pushes your arm, just enough for your elbow to rest on the back of your chair.

He goes to position your other hand right over your upper thigh. Near where you want it, where you need it, but not quite there. 

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you bite back a groan of frustration. Minghao catches the look on your face.

“Why?” he asks quietly, his voice a touch tight. “Uncomfortable?” 

“No.” You freeze at how your response comes out almost like a whine. Minghao freezes, too. 

You try to think of propriety and professionalism. You try to think of your years-long friendship with Minghao; of how awkward it would be to keep being roommates if you’ve somehow overread into this situation. 

All that goes out the window as you shift your hand slightly upward. His hand— the one still on top of yours— follows as your fingertips brush over your core. Your tone is shaky as you prompt, “It would be better here, no?” 

Minghao’s gaze snaps from your hand near the apex of your thighs, to the barely-concealed heat burning over your cheeks. His sharp features are perfectly controlled but there are the smallest signs spurring you on. His dilated pupils, the bob of his Adam’s apple. 

“You want it here?” He isn’t moving his hands. He also isn’t moving away. He looms over you, one hand holding your upper arm; the other, still close to your center. 

“I’m open to suggestions,” you say, your eyes roaming over his face for any signs of discomfort. 

A beat. And then—

Torturously slow, Minghao begins to move. He guides your hand closer to your heat until your fingertips are pressing a little more firmly against your entrance, where wetness is already beginning to pool. You clench around the feeling of nothing as Minghao remains careful about not letting his own fingers touch you just yet.

“I think this is good.” His voice is lower now. “What do you say?” 

You feel like your entire body will betray you if you try to say anything. For now, you opt to only give a jerky shake of your head. 

“No?” A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward in the ghost of a smile. You cling to that familiar grin as he pushes your hand up just a little more, just enough to have the tip of your middle finger pressing into your entrance. At this point, he’s moved his own fingers to wrap around your wrist. 

“Not enough?” he coos, even though he doesn’t look like he’s faring any better himself in the department of restraint. “What about here, then?” 

Minghao tugs at your wrist until your middle finger is sliding right into your slick. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. You feel your hand twitch, but Minghao only tightens his hold around your wrist. 

“I need you to answer me,” he mumbles, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s keeping you from moving your finger any further, and something about his demeanor tells you that it would be a bad idea to use your free hand to regain some control. Not when he was looking at you like this. 

“More,” you croak out. 

Minghao’s tongue darts out to swipe over his lower lip. “More,” he repeats, his own voice equally broken. He finally breaks his gaze to look down at the way your finger is buried inside you, at how your hand is completely his to move. “Alright, then.” 

Wordlessly, he guides you into pulling your finger out and then easing it back in. This time, his focus is entirely on the way you swallow up your finger with each shallow thrust; how his own movements are dictating your pace, your pleasure. 

You writhe in the chair, feeling absolutely mortified at how quickly you can feel heat building in your stomach. It’s been simmering for the past hour; this was only leading you to the tipping point. And Minghao isn’t even touching you yet at this point, just helping you get off. 

“Hao,” you exhale, your breath warm against his face. He finally looks back up at you and you can see all of his want on his expression, clear his day. “Hao, I need—” 

Him. You need him. That’s what you mean to say. 

But your best friend seems determined to drag this out for all its worth. 

“You need to stop moving,” he murmurs as he deftly pries your index finger free from its curl. “I don’t think I’ve said that enough.” 

This time, he helps you push two fingers into your heat.

Your head lolls back and your lips part in a silent gasp. Minghao seizes the opportunity of more skin being bared to him. He leans down to press a chaste kiss to your jawline, then to your collarbone. All the while, he keeps driving your own fingers into you.

It feels like a special kind of purgatory.

“Please, Hao,” you plead. 

“Words,” he mumbles against our skin, rewarding— or punishing— you with a particularly sharp thrust of your two fingers. You fold in half at the sensation, only managing to still sit somewhat upright by virtue of Minghao’s other hand holding your back up against the chair. “Use your words, pretty.” 

You bury your face in the crook of his neck. There’s a wretched quality to your voice as you pant, “Need you, please. Need your fingers instead.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“‘Cause—” You clench around your fingers; he feels your body tense underneath him. Both of you let out small sounds of pleasure at the reactions. “Your fingers are better, they’re— they’ll get me there faster— please, oh—” 

Your incoherent babbling seems to amuse and appease Minghao, enough for him to give in. 

He pulls your two fingers out and, before you can whine about the loss, he replaces them with two of his. They’re as brutally precise as you’d imagined them to be. Your knees almost close in an attempt to tide the pleasure that’s about to crash down, but Minghao holds your thighs apart with his other hand. 

“Don’t.” His voice is strained with effort. “Wanna see you. Please?” 

It’s the tacked on please that bowls you over, that has you nodding helplessly. You’d do anything Minghao asked if he asked in that tone. 

The squelches of his two fingers thrusting into you are obscene, but not quite as filthy as the sounds that slide past your panting lips. You moan and whimper and whine, and each little noise only seems to have Minghao moving with renewed vigor. He’s pulled away from your neck to watch you, but his eyes keep darting from your microexpressions to the way his fingers are swallowed up by your velvet heat. It’s like he can’t decide where to look first. 

“You’re a work of art,” he chokes out, his teeth grinding together as he focuses on your face. “So goddamn beautiful— sitting here all nice and pretty for me.” 

One of your hands fly to his hip in a desperate bid to hold onto something, to anything of him.

“Gonna finish,” you sob as you force your eyes open to meet his. Inadvertently, you cant your hips upward to meet one of his sharper thrusts, and the friction has the two of you moaning a little more. “Hao, fuck, can I—?” 

“Please,” he pants. “I need it. I need it so, so bad—” 

You climax with a silent scream, a sound that’s muffled as you lurch forward and press your face back into his neck. His other hand holds the back of your head in a supportive gesture as you come undone, coating his two digits in your slick. 

Minghao lets out a low cuss as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re so beautiful,” he says dazedly, sliding his fingers out of you carefully. “How are you so beautiful?” 

All you can manage is a shaky laugh as you come down from your high. As you keep your head pressed against Minghao, you catch sight of the tent in his sweatpants. Tentatively, you reach up one hand to cup him over the fabric. 

He says your name like it had been punched out of him. “Hey—” he tries to say in warning, but his body betrays him by bucking into your hand. 

“How long has that been there?” Your voice trembles, thick with a heady mix of exhaustion and desire. 

Minghao’s gruff response comes as your fingers twitch around the outline of him. “Since you stepped out of the damn shower,” he admits lowly.  

You let out a contemplative hum. There’s still a low ringing in your ears, a slight buzz in your brain from the last vestiges of your orgasm, but it can’t just be you who’s having all the fun. 

You shift back a bit so you can meet his gaze. You’re torturously slow as you palm his aching hardness, and you revel in the way Minghao reacts above you. His eyes have all but rolled into the back of his head and breathless little gasps are rising from the back of his throat.

“You’ve posed my hands,” you say, trying— and failing— to keep your tone even. “Wanna show me where my mouth should be, Hao?” 

His fingers tighten at the strands of your hair. He lets out just one more cuss before he’s using his other hand— the one still coated with your release— to pull down his bottoms. 

“Watch and fuckin’ learn, pretty,” he breathes, and you have a good feeling that he’ll make good on the threat.       

You smiled seeing your best friend let loose at this random college party. Pulling him away from his small, cramped study desk had taken quite a bit of convincing, but you managed it.

Statistics could wait, after all.

The spacious living room was dark, the only light that could be seen was from the cell phone screens of other party-goers making TikToks or recording on Snapchat to garner proof that they were able to attend such an event.

DJ made a song switch and Armin perked up, but as he did so, the clear liquid inside his cup splashed over the rim and landed directly in the middle of your white lace cami.

"Oh fuck, Y/N - I'm-I'm so sorry!"

Frantically, he began to look around the darkened room, searching for where the kitchen might be before grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him in a random direction.

"Armin, wait- that's not the way to the kitchen..."

You spoke a bit sheepishly as the blonde turned to you with a look of confusion before noticing that the two of you were indeed not in a kitchen, but a bedroom.

"Oh fuck," he repeated, hands moving to muss his already messy blonde bangs as he chuckled awkwardly at his mistake, "m-my bad, I was just trying to find something to clean you up with..."

Shrugging, you glanced around the room to see that it had a small bathroom connected to it.

"There may be some towels in the bathroom..."

+++

"Damn, Y/N...you're dripping all over my face..." Armin groaned, pulling his face from between your soaked thighs and wiping it off with the sleeve of his shirt. His cock twitched in his jeans at the sight of your swollen pussy, covered in your cum mixed with his saliva.

The towel that you thought would be used to wipe you off was placed beneath your ass while the blonde licked and slurped at your pussy like he was dying of thirst.

What had started as an innocent gesture of him helping you get cleaned up turned into soft, wet kisses on your belly and the nastiest head that you'd ever received in your life.

There had always been a little sexual tension between you both, but neither of you ever acted on it. Tonight, there was something different about Armin, and it was more than just the fact that he was tipsy.

He was determined. Confident. Ravenous.

"Armin..."

Your back arched against the stark white sheets of the bed, legs dangling off the edge as Armin knelt between them. His warm hands smoothed over the length of them, then down, down and down until they were gripping your ankles.

"Ar-wait!"

Squealing as he bent you in half, you were now eye to crystal blue eye with your friend and his glossy lips coated in your slick.

"I-I thought you were drunk off your ass by the way you spilled that drink on me! You were even swaying on the dance floor...you..."

His glasses dropped to the bridge of his nose as he smirked down at you.

"Really, you thought that? That's cute..."

Soft blonde locks splayed across your exposed skin as Armin nipped and sucked at your neck, surely leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. Moaning his name in broken syllables, you brought your arms up to wrap around his back and bring him closer.

"Sorry, Y/N, but I didn't know how else to get you alone...fuck, I've been dreaming about having you like this for so long..."

His breath came out in ragged puffs as he moved his kisses across the expanse of your chest, then down to your breasts. You squealed when the head of his tongue piercing rubbed your sensitive nipple.

He flicked the cold metal repeatedly against the hard bud while has other hand squeezed the opposite breast.

"Fuuck...A-armin...please.."

Armin knew what you needed. His fingers tapped at your lips, and obediently, you opened your mouth.

He spat a clear wad of saliva on your tongue. It tasted of the liquor you'd both been sipping on, spiced and sweet.

"I'll give you what you want, baby..."

Armin may not be the most popular guy, but he knew what he wanted and how to get it.

He'd decided that he wanted you - this side of you - in all your orgasmic glory, and he'd have it if it was the last damn thing that he'd do.

Slotting his lips over yours, he sucked the saliva off your tongue and slid off of you, back between your thighs, and spat it directly on your clit.

Your body responded kindly by twitching and spreading open for him to cover the lips of your cunt with his tongue, that sinful piercing bumping your clit before his lips closed around it, sucking gently.

Now your head was spinning as if you were the one drunk while your best friend feasted on your pussy in a random bedroom.

"Y/N..?"

It was hard to focus with Armin's tongue circling your clit, but you were able to manage a small 'hmm' in response...

"Do you think we'll be able to take our relationship to the next level now?"

Shit, you sure hoped so... +++

"cause i ain't never babysittin', i be linin' up shots, imma show you how to turn it up a notch.."

+++

you're frozen in place, hand hovering above the door handle as you process what you're hearing. you scooch closer to the wood, ear pressing against it to eavesdrop. but there's nothing but the moans of the characters that are likely gracing his screen with big busts and crevices.

were your ears playing tricks on you? there's no way that armin has a thing for you, right?

you're waiting, pressed against the door, when you hear the padding of footsteps. you stumble forward as the door swings open, revealing a panting, sweaty, and slightly confused armin.

his rectangle glasses are slightly foggy, and he's looking back and forth at you and the door before putting two and two together.

"were you spying on me?" he asks incredulously, stepping back as if he were a cowering rabbit. the horrified look on his face causes you to avoid his gaze.

"no," you lie out your ass, voice rising in pitch. you clear your throat. "i was just about to ask if you wanted to go see that new titan movie."

he's raising an eyebrow at your excuse. "right now?"

"yes, right now." you nod. you pull out your phone with swiftness, eager to change the topic. "next showing starts in 30, so we gotta leave now if we wanna catch it."

he's nodding along, seemingly unconvinced, but agrees. you let out a sigh of relief as he shuts his bedroom door again, mumbling a, 'just give me 5 minutes.'

the evening goes by swiftly, and the incident is pushed to the back of your mind for the rest of the week. armin's ramblings and theories about the series flood your head, and his moans from that day seem to be the least of your worries as midterms approach.

it's only a day before your chemistry exam, and you're approaching your roommate's door to ask him for help with the study packet.

it's closed, as usual, and you lift your knuckles to leave a knock on his door when a pitchy, strained moan makes you stop in your tracks.

"ngh- y/n, fuck..."

your jaw drops. that's not real, is it? before you can think, your hand is turning the doorknob, swinging the door open.

it's a mess. lube on the floor, fleshlight discarded on the desk, tissues scattered across the carpet. you don't even have time to analyze the setting you've just barged into before the blonde-haired boy is stumbling out of his gaming chair, mouth gaping like a fish as he stammers an excuse, hard, reddish cock still exposed in his hand.

"w-what the fuck?!" he's turning away now, attempting to shield his nudity. he's still donning his green top, and he struggles to stuff his cock into his khaki pants as he panics. "don't look!"

you cover your eyes, but an image from the corner of your gaze peaks your curiosity. "armin..." you start, slowly lifting a finger to point at the object. it's tiny, almost hard to miss, but it was stuffed messily into the drawer, causing the face on the polaroid to be exposed. "is that my picture?"

he yelps, hands darting out to snatch the photo from sight, hiding it behind his back. he's fully dressed now, but anxiously avoiding your curious gaze. "that's...private." he says, shifting his weight. "now what do you need? i was clearly in the middle of something."

"no, no." you're shaking your head, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. you're not going to let him off this time. "you were jerking off to my photo."

armin looks like a child who just got caught with their mother's makeup. he shuffles, eyes trained on the floor. "i wasn't."

you take a step closer to him, and he steps back cautiously. but before he can get any farther, you dart past him, snatching the polaroid from his fingertips.

"hey!" he's jumping, and you're tackled down onto his star-trek bedsheets as he attempts to wrestle the image out of your hands. when you catch a glimpse of it, you gasp.

it's a candid photo of you, short pajama shorts riding up so that the flesh of your ass is peeking out, and you're donned in a thin tank top that leaves little of your cleavage to the imagination. you had been seated at your desk, a mouthful of ramen puffing up your cheeks as you turned to face the sound of the camera with a shocked expression. heat creeps up your cheeks as you shriek. "why do you have this?!"

armin huffs, collapsing over you. "stop..." he grumbles, pushing his face into your chest. "you look hot in that."

his shy demeanor has your expression softening. you reach up to pat his hair soothingly. "it's alright, i'm not mad."

his head darts up in realization, eyes wide. "i swear 'm not a pervert, though!" he's defensive, lifting himself off your chest. "i-it's only because i like you a little!" he's rambling now, squirming in anxiety. "and the feelings will go away, so don't worry..." he trails, noticing your silence. he follows your gaze down to...oh.

his movement had landed you two in a rather precarious position, with your legs spread, him kneeling between them, and his crotch pressing against your core. with an obvious tent, of course, as it was still bulging from his...activities. and now that he's noticed this, his pants almost seem to get a little bit tighter.

also, his hand is on your boob.

he groans, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. blush creeps onto his cheeks, and he almost feels like he's going to get a nosebleed from how perverse this scene is.

is this...his lucky pervert moment?

no. nope. nope! he shakes the thought from his head, springing up from the bed and drawing himself away from you. he had lowkey just confessed, and now he's thinking about your body? what a douchebag. he scolds himself internally. "i'm so sorry," he repeats frantically, arms waving in front of him. "i didn't mean to, i'm so sorry, i just--"

you cut him off with a wave of your hand, sitting up on his bed with a laugh. "armin. it's okay, trust me, i know it was an accident. and honestly, you can keep the photo. it doesn't bother me, but..." you eyes trail up his fidgeting figure as he attempts to cover his boner by pulling down his shirt. "will you be okay?" you say pointedly. your gaze is fixated on the bulge in his pants.

"y-yeah." he stutters, sweat dripping down his temple as the heat on his face rises. "sorry, can you get out now? i need to...take care of it." he mumbles ashamedly.

you cock your head curiously. you'd be lying if you said you never had a thing for your nerdy roommate, but all hope had long been lost since you determined his waifus would come before he'd set his sights on any real girls in his life. but now that his interest in you is real and tangible...

in that second, you make a decision.

"want me to help you out?"

a/n: should i continue this? (i will)