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didisficrecs

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didisficrecs · 12 days

Note

Fboi!jk WHO’s lowkey in Love with oc🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[ request a milestone drabble ]

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. general. tags. infuriating college antics and mentions of drinking. that’s about it. wc. 0.9k. beta reader. n/a. author note. ty for the request! i hope you enjoyed, even though it’s a little sloppy and disjointed. 😐😐

Jeon Jungkook is many things: campus heartthrob, surprisingly smart (but exceedingly lazy), the guy who works the front desk of the university’s gym. He drinks too many coffees a day, keeps a photo of his dog in his wallet, and has a surprisingly big following on social media. (For his photography and not his thirst traps, which is perhaps the most surprising thing about him.)

He’s also the guy who shamelessly played you during his first year, wrapping you around his freshman finger as easily as a Red Vine at the movies. It’s why you don’t like him now, barely tolerating him each time you’re in the same vicinity.

(Unfortunately for you, your friend group overlap is massive - the worst kind of venn diagram.)

“Stop,” your best friend chides, legs hooked over her boyfriend’s lap, the tip of her finger digging deep into your side, assaulting the sensitive side of your ribs. You almost knock over your drink with how much it startles you, leg making forceful contact with the bottom of the table.

Beer sloshes out of its glass, three heads whipping to stare in your direction. “Sorry!” You play it off with a wave of your hand, gaze bouncing to Mina’s, brow knit tight over your stare. “Stop what?”

“Stop glaring at him.” The way she says it makes it seem stupid - as if the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. You resent her for it, though not nearly as much as you resent him for existing.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” It’s two voices at once, Hoseok chiming in with his girlfriend.

You resent Jung Hoseok too. He’s the whole reason you’re stuck here on this Friday night, seated in the kitchen of the frat house. He’s the one who’d tangled everything together, turning your group of girlfriends into literal girlfriends. (You’re happy for them, you swear. Joon is a sweetheart and Yoongi might always seem like he’s bothered but he’s nice too. Even Hoseok is actually okay.)

“He’s being an attention whore,” you retort, probably more petulantly than you need to, with needles sticking out of syllables, two year’s worth of history slipping alongside vowels.

“He’s literally just sitting there.”

Mina’s not wrong - but he’s also flirting. Shamelessly. With one of the girls that seem to always be at these things, all chiming laughter and brilliantly white teeth. You’ve seen her a handful of times, almost always at Jungkook’s side for at least some portion of the evening.

“Give it a break, ____.”

You wish you could. In fact, you’d like nothing more than to not care about Jeon Jungkook and his infuriating antics. It’d save you a lot of frustrations, make it so much easier to exist on the same campus as him.

Because as it stands, it’s next to impossible not to be reminded of him, to go a single day without hearing about how great he is with his stupid boopable nose and sparkly eyes. Every day, from friends or strangers, it’s simp central.

You hate it.

Jeon Jungkook is good at many things: passing classes he barely attends (which isn’t that many, because he is actually pretty studious all things considered), making jungle juice that could knock out an elephant, dying his hair pink.

He’s also apparently really good at pissing people off when he doesn’t mean to. Call it a skill of his.

One he’d honed with you, nearly three years ago now. Back when he’d been young and stupid and uncertain, when he hadn’t quite grown into well, much of anything, when he’d had his priorities all messed up.

Maybe he shouldn’t have broken up with you within two months - citing needing to focus on school - and then dated someone shortly thereafter. Maybe he shouldn’t have seemed to find himself in every class of yours, sitting across the lecture hall listening to the professor drone on and on about statics. Maybe he shouldn’t have introduced one of his fraternity brothers to someone he knew you knew.

(He says maybe but he knows they were all bad choices made by an underveloped brain, too addled by Thursday night pub crawls and a grass is always greener on the other side mentality.)

Sometimes, he feels bad. He doesn’t miss the way you pointedly ignore him when he’s around, how your expression seems to be stuck in a permanent scowl any time you catch sight of him.

(He’d have to be dumb to not notice all of that and while Jungkook is many things, dumb isn’t necesarily one of them. Immature maybe. Impulsive definitely.)

“Where’d ____ go?”

Someone else asks the question he wants to but keeps caged behind his teeth, hidden past his molars.

Mina sighs dramatically, pats her boyfriend’s cheek, and shrugs. “Who knows.”

But Jungkook knows. Thinks he knows, anyway. You’ve left, because you always leave when he does things you hate. (And you hate everything he does.)

One day he’ll get the courage to apologise to you, to explain that he still misses you. He knows it won’t be well-received (why would it be?) but he’ll offer it anyway, awkward and stilted and not nearly as apologetic as it should be.

Today isn’t that day though.

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didisficrecs · 13 days

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—backseat serenade. (m)

⟶ pairing: taehyung x reader

⟶ genre: punk!taehyung / band au / brother’s best friend au + smut

⟶ words: 10,790

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: falling in love and having weekly sex with kim taehyung is wrong for a number of reasons — and, no, that’s not including the whole other issue that he’s also your brother’s best friend

⟶ warnings: multiple sex scenes, slight exhibitionism if u look hard enough, wall sex, car sex, unprotected sex, all the sex (seriously), fingering, pussy slapping (also if u look hard enough), lots of teasing, doggy style, riding, creampie

⟶ disclaimer: this story is another repost of an old one (although it’s basically been entirely rewritten lol)!

⟶ this is part of the melodrama tour series!

Keep reading

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didisficrecs · 13 days

Text

—melomaniac. (m)

melomaniac ⟶ ❝ lover of music ❞

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: punk!jungkook / band au / friends-to-lovers + smut

⟶ words: 13,000

⟶ summary: you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because he’s supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he’s in love with you too.

⟶ warnings: coarse language, extreme mutual pining but knowing it’s wrong, tattooed and long haired jungkook to feed my fantasies, angsty fluff / smut: needy clingy sex, slight body worship themes, oral sex, overstimulation, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, cock warming-ish.

⟶ disclaimer: this was a revamp of two old fics I had posted on tumblr on another blog a while ago, so if it seems familiar at all to anyone then that is probably why. also, the song that jungkook sings in this i imagine to be ‘make it right’ (but the one featuring lauv).

Jungkook is late again.

By ten minutes to be exact, but you’re certain no one’s counting anymore except for maybe you. The thought, however, doesn’t come as a surprise when it’s a natural occurrence in his life and even counting the time as it ticks by is a useless endeavour that wastes yours.

“Where is this idiot?”

Yoongi says this from somewhere off to your left, seething with subdued irritation. He’s been tapping his foot impatiently from behind the stand of his keyboard from the very second the clock struck twelve and Jungkook still hadn’t shown up; but his usual trademark impatience seems to be rubbing off on everyone else standing about in the room. Although, you can’t quite tell if his peeved mood is really because Jungkook is late or because the storage facility the guys rent by the hour to practice altogether as a band is being used to just stand around purposelessly and listen to nothing but angry breathing.

Keep reading

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didisficrecs · 18 days

Text

knee socks | jjk

⇢ genre: drabble (set in the sdapu!universe)

⇢ pairing: jeon jeongguk x unnamed oc

⇢ word count: nearly 2.0k

⇢ warnings: fluff, mild angst, implied drinking, swearing, unknowingly requited love, this is just a painful slow burn that i wrote while listening to jungkook’s spotify playlist and watching a clip of him dancing in the rain. this is set nine months prior to the events of simmer down and pucker up, which can be read here. also loosely inspired by knee socks by the arctic monkeys.

Nine months prior

The rain fell against the windows of her bedroom with a melody known only by nature and those sleepless minds awake at early hours of the morning. As stormy as it was, though, a single block of moonlight fell across the messy sheets of her bed, tousled hair and open hearts framed in the gentle glow. Two figures, legs and arms intertwined, finding solace in the dreamy companionship that’s a little fuzzy at the edges, just out of touch with actuality but real, all at the same time.

His fingertips stroke her jaw, the contrast of his large hands and her small face never failing to amaze him. He cradles her face in his hands as she takes a shuddering breath and he wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, whispering words of reassurance that dissipate in the dim room.

When she whispers, she sounds so fragile. His heart twists. “Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

Keep reading

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didisficrecs · 2 months

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EREN FICS

(and some other characters)

Read

you say the word, im on the way by @prettyboykatsuki– exes to lovers, angsty smut

easy, baby by @prettyboykatsuki – f2l, heartwarming, smut

1:44* AM – fboy eren, smut, angst

hate fucking eren yeager – smut

to have and to hold – angst, smut

To Be Read

The Boys at Work – angst, smut

ao3 search

#eren x reader #my lists

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didisficrecs · 2 months

Text

ZUTARA FICS

Read

The Sun, the Moon, and the Truth – by thee senlinyu, post war, angsty angst, smut, pining

Purr – modern uni au, TA zuko, zuko pursues katara, sliiiight angst, smut & fluff

Sunshine Riptide – post war, smut, tension

The Sparrowkeet series – angsty angst, one shots, gaang

My faves from the series — Sparrowkeet – e2l kinda, angsty angst I don't have a clue – jealousy Heartbeats (or, Wherein Toph is Smarter and Generally More Awesome Than Everyone Else) – angst A Rush of Blood to the Head – e2l kinda The Fourth Wall (or, The Ember Island Players) – angst

when you say "it's gonna happen now" – modern au, f2l, fluff

it's late and i think it's about time for you and me to get closer – character study, smut, yearning, longing

as if you were on fire from within/the moon lives in the lining of your skin – modern au, rivals to lovers, smut, fwb

To be Read

Journeys – modern uni au

Dancing in the Dark – Ba Sing Se

Twist Me to the Left – modern band au

and expectations she won't meet – modern au, TA zuko

indigo summer – modern au, surfer katara

Lotus Lake – modern boarding school au

The Penance Series – smut

His Majesty Prefers Blue

When The Mask Comes Off

Rumour Has It

This ffnet list This ao3 list

*stories w smut have aged-up characters as far as i know😭

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zuko x katara #zuko #katara #atla #my lists

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didisficrecs · 2 months

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SASUSAKU FICS

Read

The Flip Side — rtn au, fluff

Not Too Late – slight angst, fluff

Like Fire and Leaves – rtn and vampire diaries mix, angsty smut

Patterns – rtn, bickering, tension

Sharp Edge

We Do The Dance Electric – blank period, banter

A fever you can’t sweat out by uchiharvno – rtn angsty angst, smut, angst so so so so good

You make my heart beat faster – rtn

Pockets by pinipig – blank period

this tumblr drabble — emotional dark angsty smut

To Be Read

Exes meeting again after not speaking for years (sorta) by @sun-summoning – rtn

Samsara – tbr, plot driven

Sweethearts – rtn modern college au, tbr

matchmaker, matchmaker…how did you get the girl? by @anthropologicalhands – rtn

Rtn series by brumel – rtn, angst, smut

We Draw the Lines in the Leaves by Lady Momo – rtn

Also anything by KuriQuinn on ao3

#sasusaku #sasuke uchiha #sasuke x sakura #haruno sakura #naruto #my lists

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didisficrecs · 3 months

Text

High Demand

ꕤ- Pairing: Dealer! Jungkook x Reader

ꕤ- WC: 2.6k

ꕤ- A modern day Romeo and Juliet

Content: college student! reader, grumpy jk, brief texting! au, jk is lowkey whipped, drug use (marijuana), reader is his special customer, vaping, opposites attract, suggestive themes, minor jealousy, idiots in love (but they won't admit it), shot gunning, grinding, fwb?

Other Content: thigh riding, high sex, jk titty appreciation, unprotected sex (no.), hand job, soft dom kook, reader is a little needy, brief switch! koo, hickeys, pet names, spit, biting.

Shaking your head with a small giggle as you looked at your phone before tossing it aside. You're totally his favourite. You know he's stubborn and he would never admit it but deep down he loves delivering to you the most.

Looking around your sad and dimly lit dorm, all the lights were off and your roommate was gone for the weekend doing god knows what with her weird ass biology major boyfriend who would collect rabbit tails in jars for 'science'.

You were looking at one right now actually, it seems they left one behind, on the coffee table. It was just fermenting in... you actually weren't sure and didn't want to know.

Your eyes felt like they were on fire the longer you looked at the stupid philosophy paper you were writing. The bright light from your laptop was beginning to drill into your head. Your head lolled to the side glancing at the time on your phone.

It was almost 11:30, and time for a break. Abandoning the device on the couch for a quick wake-up shower; by the time you'd gotten changed and returned to the living room, you could expect Jungkook any minute now.

Except, this is Jungkook we're talking about. He's always late.

That's why when you heard the familiar rattling of the rusty fire escape you were startled. It was a little past midnight. Climbing through the window in nothing but your basketball shorts and a white tee.

Pleasantly surprised to see Jungkook scaling the platform with a bag of takeout pinned in between his teeth. The sight of you looking down at him from where he climbed made his eyebrows raise but of course he couldn't say anything.

Not until he was finally close enough for you to grab the bag from his mouth and he stands up. You climb back inside first with him following behind with a pained sigh. "I'm so sick of coming here. Got me climbing walls like its fucking subway surfers." He curses while you place the food down on the table.

Completely ignoring him, practically drooling as you slowly peeled open the bag. "And I thought you said you weren't gonna bring me anything." He snatches the bag.

"I didn't."

You let yourself fall onto the couch, arms crossed and unbelieving. "Oh yeah? So you just coincidentally craved Wendy's and decided to haul it up three flights up a ladder from your mouth when you could've just eaten it in the car?"

"Yeah exactly." He shrugs, obviously lying.

"Give me the bag, Jungkook."

"Fine. But I'm charging you extra for the delivery and the labour of bringing it up here." He hands it to you and you roll your eyes knowing it was nothing more than a bluff.

"It's not my fault you're out of shape," you mumble unwrapping the burger. "Oh yeah? Is this what out of shape looks like to you?" He says it almost offended but challenged.

Choking briefly on your food as he lifts up his shirt, revealing the defined abs that you have such lewd memories of. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You try climbing 3 flights up a ladder and tell me it's easy." You shrug,

"Not my fault you're banned from the campus." He drops himself down beside you, reaching for the bag of fries and taking some for himself. "But it is, if you hadn't called me to drop off a stash for Angelica's dorm party maybe I could still take the stairs."

You drop your half-eaten burger with apologetic eyes, "How was I supposed to know they were doing random security checks in the lobby? At least you didn't get arrested." You pout and he scoffs.

"Bare minimum." He says via grumpy mutter under his breath so you offered up the rest of your food to him as a peace offering. A little sad that he actually took it but you were getting full anyway.

As he finished up the rest of your food you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "So do you still do drops with Angelica?" He nods with his mouth full of the last bite, stuffing the wrappers back in the bag.

"How often does she call you?-- for deliveries I mean." He chuckles, licking his lips, "Jealous?" You take the trash off the coffee table and bring it to the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. "You're delusional."

"I can't help it if I'm in high demand." He manspreads, his arms stretched over the back of the couch. "Just shut up. Do you have my pen?" He reaches for the pocket inside his leather jacket, pulling out the slim box.

Already knowing that you were going to use it now, he began to unbox it while you collected the cash you needed. "40 right?" You say handing him the small spread of bills, "Yeah, but for you, I guess I could make it 30." He shrugs conceitedly.

"Because I'm your favourite." You say and he shakes his head, "No. Because I ate your food." Which he paid for but you didn't dare to say that out loud, you were getting cheap weed.

"So who's your favourite then Jungkook?" He hands you the pen, "Listen. I don't climb up the fire escape when I do deliveries for Angelica, I make her come to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Trying to tug the pen out of his grasp but he holds it firm until you respond, "I guess I can work with that." He smiles softly, letting you take the first hit as his arm wraps around your shoulder.

The two of you passed the pen back and forth, with little giggles here and there and wide eyes on the episode of SpongeBob that was playing.

By now the dark living room is illuminated by nothing more than your roommate's lava lamp and a strip of purple LEDs' taped behind the TV. You could see the smoke as it floated past the few sources of light.

"Open." He directs, taking a particularly long hit, leaning into you and blowing the pungent smoke into your mouth, sucking it in from his lips.

The pen is now forgotten as it rolls between the cracks of the couch. Straddling Jungkook's muscular thigh as he flexed it every now and then, taking hits from his blueberry Ice vape and blowing it to the ceiling, giving you a prime view of his sharp jaw under the soft purple lighting.

The sight made you shake, gyrating your hips almost desperately as you chased the feeling of friction on his denim-clad thigh. "You like that? You feel good fucking yourself on my thigh?" The question was rhetorical, you were too dazed to answer him anyway.

Your heavy-lidded gaze slowly rolls up to his pretty face once you feel his hand move from your hips to gently wrap around your neck, not applying any pressure, just there to let you feel the weight of his hand. "Answer me," He says, and you fall forward "Yess, feels so good." You moan, and Jungkook has danced this dance with you enough to see you were close.

But of course, he couldn't let you cum so soon, not yet. His hands flew to your hips and pinned you down on his thigh, restricting your range of motion. "Please," You beg and he wishes he had a little more willpower but he couldn't say no to you, not when you looked so fucked out when he's barely touched you.

"Fuck. Take your shirt off." Leaning back and crossing your arms over the base of the shirt, you pried it off your body desperately. Leaving you in your black lacy bra and it pulled out a guttural groan from Jungkook's chest.

"You little whore." he grits through his clenched teeth, grip tightening on the arm of the couch nearly ripping the fabric.

This position was no longer giving him what he so desperately craved. Shrugging the jacket from off his shoulders and taking off the tank top underneath letting your eyes roam over his built upper body, oh how you wanted to just...

Without thinking your tongue striped up the expanse of his bulky pecs. This was new, but Jungkook was so high out of his mind anything and everything you did felt like he was on cloud 9.

Your mouth dropped down to wrap around his rosy nipples and you could've never anticipated the worked-up reaction you got from him. "Oh shit, shit shit." He gasps, hands gripping your waist tight enough that you're sure there will be bruises by the morning.

Letting your tongue lap around his nipples with pure hunger, an inexplicable flame burning in your core as you were finally the one who got to watch the other be reduced to a moaning mess.

His once soft moans turned a little breathy and high-pitched, His hips bucked causing you to jolt in his lap, he was getting close.

"Didn't think you'd like having your tits played with so much?" You tease him but he didn't find the humour in it. He holds you by the throat once more, this time applying a generous amount of pressure, pushing you off him.

Unbuckling his belt and you knew what that meant. He slides out of his pants, followed by the boxers that were the last barrier between your moistened lips and his throbbing cock. "Let's put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" He hums, watching as you sink to your knees, hand carefully wrapped around his base, starting with slow pumps.

"Spit on it." Doing as told, you let a wad of spit fall from your pretty, plush lips and coat the shaft of his dick, you worked your palm up his length. Already satisfied with the way his head was thrown back.

"Just like that," Reaching for the vape, he takes a few good hits, the head rush mixed with the pleasure had him seeing stars-- the object falling from his hands immediately the moment he felt the warm heat of your mouth wrap around his sensitive tip.

"Y/n-" He breathes out, almost scared, he was so close, too soon. He's never struggled to hold himself back this badly before. What were you doing to him?

The obscene sounds of you choking as you struggled to take all of him in your mouth, letting your nose touch the soft, trimmed hairs near his base. Focusing on breathing through your nose before you felt a heavy hand on the back of your head, pushing you lower.

You were quite literally slobbering on his dick, gagging with every buck of his hips. "That's it, princess. You're doing so well--Shit. Mouth feels like fucking heaven." His praise rushes to your core and has your left hand trailing down to rub yourself through your lace underwear.

The rough friction being more than enough to get you there, "I'm gonna cum, baby. Where-- Shit!-- Where do you want it?" He gasps, his hips snapping, pushing his length down your throat almost erratically. You don't answer, only hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper, making your desires clear.

Your own fingers quickening their pace, your own sounds travelling through his dick in vibrations and pushing him right over the edge with you, filling your mouth with his warm cum.

Swallowing as if it were second nature. "Stick out your tongue," He says softly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to regain his composure from his overwhelming climax. Your tongue was out and cleared of any of his cum and it made him crazy.

He remembers the first time he'd brought an order to you over 6 months ago. He thought you were nothing more than a cute little philosophy major, never did he think he'd have you beneath him like he does right now.

Looking up at him, daring to give you an almost angelic gaze while the two of you ruined each other. Tainting each other with your own touches. "Kiss me?" You ask it so cutely, tempting him with the pout on your lips. You weren't being fair.

His body didn't give him a choice before his lips were on yours, his hips grinding into yours. The feeling of his solid dick rolling against your skin making the butterflies go ramped in your stomach.

The way you licked over his bottom lip with your own made Jungkook weak, stumbling on his elbows as he held himself up over you. Soft groans could be heard the deeper the kiss became.

Messy and intimate. Your hand crept up the back of his neck to tug at the dark locks of hair on his head. There was a loud pop and the two of you paused.

With Jungkook between your legs and with you under him, your heads turned slowly towards the coffee table where the jar was, dedicated to the fermenting rabbit tail. "What the fuck is that?" Jungkook slowly sits up, "My roommate's boyfriend's weird biology shit. I dunno, it freaks me out too." You sit up, now remembering what the two of you were in the middle of doing.

"That shit's not gonna blow up or anything right." You gently peck him on the lips but his brain seems preoccupied by the jar, "who knows," you say, kissing right under his ear and that seemed to get him to zone in on you.

Catching his bottom lip under his teeth as your kisses became more eager, suckling on a certain spot on his neck, his head falling back against his will. "Fuck, Y/n-- Don't you dare." You pull off his soft skin with a soft pop, admiring the burgundy bruise left behind.

"Oops." Your apology was ingenuine and bratty, and Jungkook hated brats.

Tearing you out of your final pieces of clothing before manhandling you into his lap. "Sit on it." He demands and you follow without question. Moaning out loud as his dick spread your lips apart like butter.

Sliding down with ease and a stretch of your velvety walls that were currently squeezing Jungkook for everything he's got and he's got nothing left, everything was yours.

"I-Shit! You feel so good, Kook!" He couldn't bother to correct you on the annoying nickname you were incessant on using. "Yeah? You like that- fuck, you feel so good." He curses, bucking his hips up into you as you raise your hips trying to match his thrusts.

He was fucking you so good, so ruthlessly, your head falls onto his shoulder and you needed more than just the couch to hold on to, your teeth sank into the muscular meat of his shoulder and his pace faltered.

"Shit shit shit! Do that again." He groans, picking up an inhumane pace that had you bouncing all over the place until he stilled you in his arms. His grunts and breathy moans came out right beside your ear only pushing you to your orgasm faster.

"J-jungkook-!" You pant, unable to speak, feeling like your insides are being rearranged, "Me too, baby. Cum with me." You finish first, and with a few more unsynchronized snaps of his hips, you were being filled to the brim with his cum.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of muffled music playing from your neighbour's next door and laboured breaths. Jungkook gently lays you down on the couch beside him, staring into your eyes.

This felt so intimate. You felt his gaze deeper than just behind your eyes, it was as if he was looking into your soul. His eyes were tinted red as he looked at you with an adoring gaze. "You're cute." He says it casually as though he hadn't just fucked you.

Your eyes roll before they close, feeling the sleepiness begin to kick in. "Bet you say that to all your customers." Mumbling the words into his chest while he began to grin a little.

"Nope. Only to my favourite." Your eyes shoot open.

"I knew it."

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didisficrecs · 4 months

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To All the Wizards I've Loved Before — Dramione fanfic on AO3

💌🦉📬💕🪄

IT’S HERE! Chapter 1 of TATWILB, my new Dramione Eighth Year adaptation of To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, is now live on AO3.

“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧—” 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘰𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴, 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦��𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥. “𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮?”

“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵?”

“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳? 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘭. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.”

If you like love letters, fake dating, a Crookshanks/Draco friendship, and post-war fluff (and, of course, the original movie/book), you’re in good company. This will be 5-6 chapters and regularly updated. I hope you follow along and enjoy! 🫶

Cover 🎨: drawn by hand in Procreate (yes, I was pretty excited about this!) + Canva + Waterlogue (which is fantastic + doesn’t use GAI)

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didisficrecs · 4 months

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“Against your better judgement, you give in. Just for now. Just for the time being.” PLZ TELL ME THEY ENDED UP TOGETHER

AHFNSJFJ Its a little complicated but eventually yes!!!

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didisficrecs · 4 months

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What was the final straw for the reader to leave eren in College 💔💔💔💔

oh do u mean for my modern eren? uhh it wasn’t rlly one particular thing but when eren missed a birthday that was lowkey it for them lol

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didisficrecs · 4 months

Text

A (fake) Manacled movie poster!

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didisficrecs · 4 months

Text

I-

— forbidden fruit (m)

pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader

contains: nsfw (18+ ONLY) content; minors and ageless blogs please do not interact. dark content - incest/stepcest; eren and reader are stepsiblings, and there’s a year age gap (eren is in his “junior” (third) year of college and reader is in her “sophomore” (second) year. profanity, usage + descriptions of drugs (mostly weed) and alcohol. brief mentions of drunk sex, a scene with sex under the influence; dubcon. oral/handjobs (m. + f. receiving/giving), slight (consensual) voyeurism, masturbation + usage of toys; toxic “relationship” dynamics (eren is possessive. also a jackass and very, very annoying); mentions of virginity loss. infidelity/cheating (not on reader), dubcon filming/recording; phone sex (kinda), unprotected sex/creampies; overstim, orgasm denial/edging. degradation (both verbal and non-verbal; not heavy), petnames, praise. mentions of depression/anxiety, and grieving (a relationship).

word count: 15.2k (good grief.)

notes: i..don’t have anything to say other than a thank you to @alert-arlert. my baby. for listening (tolerating) me talking about this, giving me feedback and beta’ing it even tho it’s not your cup of tea. this took a little over three to four days for me to complete, originally being a piece i posted under a different account a few years ago. it’s become a monster, and i’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing lmfao. i’m afraid that if i tweak it anymore it’ll never see the light of day, so to the tumblr page it goes. if you don’t like it, all i ask id that you don’t tell me and don’t be mean about it. kissing u all on your foreheads and running into the woods as i launch this.

here is the playlist for it. thank you to @/cafekitsune for the dark content divider!

ao3 link.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway tears Eren from his phone screen.

He can hear it through his headphones; the gravel-covered path crunching beneath the rubber of the tires, getting closer and closer to the door; the sound of an engine humming, and what sounds like upbeat pop music playing through the speakers of the car. Some mainstream pop song that has him rolling his eyes.

Plucking his headphones out of his ear, he pauses his music to lean over to the window and peek between the blinds—a sleek, silver car sits in the drive, unfamiliar to him. From the driver’s side steps a woman: tall and pretty. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her forehead, and says something to the other person in the passengers seat, motioning for them to get out and follow before heading to pop the trunk open. Out the figure pulls two large, silver suitcases and a pink duffle bag.

After a minute, the other person steps out. He can tell you’reshort, shorter than him, anyway, and pretty. You're dressed for the summer weather, the heat—wearing a short, light blue dress that comes down to your thighs, and white, open-toed sandals. Also blue.

And, from where he’s looking he can see a bit of your tits peeking out, when you bend over to pick up your luggage. And a peek of your underwear when you bend over to pick your bag up, too.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers that his dad told him a few weeks before that he was meeting his new girlfriend. That she’s a fashion designer and from across the country after having been away; recently divorced with only a daughter from two marriages ago.

He’d seen pictures of the two of you before, he notes when you step into the foyer, ones of you on lavish vacations to Paris and at dinners in Italy; trying countless flavors of cake while wedding planning and on your breaks from school.

Trips are nice. He’s been on a few before: cruises with his mom or boring business trips to New York to attend conferences with his dad. He has fond memories of the trips with his mom, framing the pictures of them in matching headbands and sunglasses. Like the ones where he was covered in sunscreen because he burned so easily, or the time he accidentally fell asleep while tanning and was pink on one side.

His dad mentioned her name before—something along the lines of Carly? Or Selena? Or…Angelina, or—

“This is Dina.” Grisha reaches to his left to squeeze her hand, shooting her a warm smile.

Dina. Oh, that’s it.

She looks nice, smiling warmly in his direction, but there’s something about it that seems off. He can’t tell if it’s her smile, or something else entirely. Maybe it’s all the money going to her head, literally.

He nods his head in acknowledgment, and climbs down the rest of the stairs. Clicking his phone screen shut, Eren pulls out a chair to seat himself right next to you.

“Son, this is her daughter,” Grisha continues, gesturing to you. “She’s a little younger than you, and she attends the same university as you—” You gave him a small wave, quickly averting your eyes from his intense ones. Cute.

You’re not the first “sibling” he’s had—he has an older brother named Zeke; a half brother from his dad’s previous relationship whose seven years older than him. He’s nice, sure. Eren’s met him a handful of times, talked to him less than that; he wasn’t particularly interested in anything he tried to talk about. Not cars, not action figures, not movies—nothing. He tried to get into baseball for Zeke when he was younger, but to no avail. As far as he knows, he’s off somewhere far; across the country in a city called Marley.

It’s nice to have someone that’s closer to his age.

Eren’s a junior, while you’re a sophomore. You major in biology. So you’re pretty and smart, huh? You even hang around the same people, he realizes, when he snoops on your Instagram. Funny he’s never seen or heard of you before now. If you were this close, why hadn’t you met before?

You recognize him from your football team, the Shiganshina Riots. He’s a quarterback, team captain. You’ve seen him in interviews, sweaty and sticky from games, but still handsome all the same. You know enough about him to know he’s a general health studies major; you’ve had minor run-ins with him at parties while drunk. Babbling something off your ass about how you thought he was cute, him overhearing you gush about him; a year ago, it was normal. Now, it’s not.

Fortunately for you, he doesn’t seem to remember.

He’s been the talk of your friend group for forever, since the first day. It’s hard to blame them, really: he’s pretty. Dark brown hair that comes to his shoulders that he always has tied back in a half-bun; tall, charming, and has a plethora of friends; ranging from the captain of the debate team (a childhood friend, if you remember correctly) to the shorter one that throws loud parties every weekend. The ones that get more rowdy at the end of each semester; the ones your friends drag you to when you’ve been holed up in your room for too long.

He’s here on a full ride scholarship, having been scouted by Coach Shadis and Pixis —the creepy fuck—recruited to play specifically for the Shiganshina Riots.

The rest of Grisha’s words blur in his memory, going in one ear and immediately out of the other; he feigns interest, nods when he’s supposed to. He’s tuned in to you the whole time—you’re nervous, he can tell; likely from the combination of moving in, meeting your new relatives, being asked to play house for who knows how long, with two people you barely know; he can imagine it’d be hard for you. It was hard for him, when his mom moved out. Got remarried, moved away. It feels like it never gets easier.

In the midst of talking, your eyes flit to his for a mere second—widening when you notice he’s staring at you. You flinch, and the corners of his mouth turn into a half-grin. Not expecting him to be watching you, peeking at him from the side. He thinks you’re interesting, someone he wouldn’t mind getting to know. Maybe, just maybe, moving you in won’t be that bad after all.

“They’re moving in—”

“Yeah yeah,” Eren interrupts, waving a dismissive hand and rising to his feet. Padding over to the stairs, he calls back to you, “Just don’t touch my shit and stay out of the way.”

Great. Wonderful first impression made.

He helped you move in—mostly because he was forced to—but, he would be a liar if he said didn’t enjoy it a little bit; you took the room next to his, and he helped you move your desk up to the room and your clothes to your closet.

Over time, he’s learned a few things about you: you’re relatively quiet, tidy and neat, and you do what you’re asked. You have various keepsakes strewn about your room, like a small Eiffel Tower sculpture from one of your vacations to Paris, and a margarita glass gifted to you from your mother after a trip to Belize.

You don’t play loud music or turn your TV volume up, nor do you play video games until ungodly hours of the night. (He’s not even completely sure that you even like video games. Or have more than a few hobbies outside of studying.) When you do talk on the phone, it's in practically a whisper, not leaving much room for him to eavesdrop; you go out with your friends on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, after you’ve all finished your classes and obligations for the day. You enjoy shopping, you like puzzle games. You drink milk like it’s your lifeline, you shower with the water entirely too hot—you’re a lightweight, he learns.

You’re studious. Bright. Warm. Friendly. Cheery. Committed to your studies, determined to get your education. It seems to come easy to you, like a talent you’d expect for someone like you.

Something he’s not, however, it’s something he respects.

He’s the opposite: he doesn’t fall behind in school, no, but he does struggle. It’s not something that comes easy to him, regardless of how much he wants—er, wanted—it to. He coasts by with C’s, and studies what he studies. Every class he’s taken, Armin’s taken before—and he helps him with studying. That’s good enough. He’s on the louder side, often playing his music through a speaker and chatting on the phone when he’s not yelling through the mic with his friends. He plays the game every night, it seems. At first it annoyed you, but now you’ve just learned to block it (and him) out.

Rarely, do you ever make a lot of noise. And, even then, a knock on the wall makes you stop.

Sometimes, you spend so much time cooped up in your room that it piques his interest. Eren wonders what you do in there, since you’re so…quiet. Your door’s usually closed, not cracked. But the rare times you do have it open, you’re studying at your desk with your lamp on and headphones plugged in, flipping through the same pages over and over, softly murmuring their contents to yourself. Copying the material repeatedly in your notebook, with your fuzzy pen over, and over, until you know it by heart.

You’re a always on time, straight-A student. Probably never, ever done or even looked at a single drug before—nor even entertained the idea of sex—forever on the straight and narrow, the textbook type. He realizes that he doesn’t know a lot about you, outside of the things in your room. He knows you like Sanrio characters, reading manga, shopping, and listening to music—he doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know your favorite movies or songs, he doesn’t know what you like to eat, or what pisses you off, besides him. You’re as good as a stranger living in the room next to his; a goody two shoes, the ones in those movies, before they have a rebellious streak. He supposes that he didn’t necessarily help, when the first thing he did was shove you away.

Eren wants to get to know you; he’ll have a lot of fun with you.

He brought a girl home today.

You pull open your curtains a little to see. He pulls in his black car, stepping out with a girl in tow. You’ve seen her before—Hitch, maybe, from what you’ve heard—a girl maybe a year older than him, who you presume he met via a match on Tinder. She’s pretty, very pretty. Someone you’ve only said hello to in passing, but heard enough about to know that she’s nice. Friendly.

The click of Eren’s door has something twisting in the pits of your belly—unpleasant, unwelcomed. A reflex that has you picking at the skin of your lip, fighting the urge to get up. To put your pillow between your legs, and press your ear against the wall.

Another thing, is that you share a wall. The same one your beds are on.

Eren swears that while he was fucking her, he heard a moan come from the other side; sounding like you, a whimper of something sounding suspiciously like his name, and not just once. Twice, and loud, like you wanted to be heard.

You wish it was you, instead of her.

You’re curious about what he does at night.

When he comes home late, or sometimes not at all that night, but rather the next day, smelling like several different types of perfume. Covered in countless lipstick marks, hickies, scratches, bite marks—everything. And red eyes, half-lidded, probably from having done every drug even brought to Connie’s parties, the ones he hosts every Friday night.

When his friends are over, and the door’s cracked. Music louder than your heartbeat, vibrating the walls and the hallway outside it. In there, flicking out his tongue and wetting the thin rolling paper, smoothing it out with his fingers when he’s supposed to be studying in his room. The soft click of his lighter, the initial inhale. When he puffs smoke out of his lips — he sees you there, at his door. He knows.

The small buzzing of your toy underneath the blanket you use to muffle it—it doesn’t work, he’s sure you know, and you only ever use it when Mom and Dad aren’t home. When he’s home, with the door cracked enough for him to see you, directly across.

And when you edge yourself, pulling your fingers out when you’re close.

It takes everything in him not to cave, not to fuck you like you deserve. Like someone like you deserves to be fucked, split open on his cock and made to cum as many times as he desires. One day, he’ll ruin you. Bring you to tears and nothing else until you beg him to fill you, mess you up with his cum. Fuck it deep into you, until you can’t breathe.

Maybe he’ll fuck you against a mirror, too; show you just how good you look taking him in, gasping breathlessly every time he sinks deeper and deeper, when you reflexively try to push him out. Leaving finger shaped bruises on your hips, warmth in your thighs, his grip on your neck. How you won’t even recognize yourself as that same girl in those photos, smiling and cheery; instead fucked out and sobbing, poor cunt weeping for him.

The thought has him palming himself through his underwear, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Fuck. He’s gotta have you. Soon.

You’ll be his goody two shoes. He’ll show you.

“Dude, your brother is like, hot, hot.” One of your friends, Mina, says through the phone’s speaker.

“Mi,” you rub your forehead, exasperated, “you can’t say that.”

“Why can’t I? He’s not my brother, is he?” Mina starts, cheeks stuffed with food, “he’s your brother—and you’re my friend, therefore I can, legally, call him hot.”

“Stop.”

“No, no she’s right,” Camille interjects, “he’s very, very hot. And if you,” she points a bright red nail at you through the camera lens on FaceTime, “don’t fuck him, I will.”

You choke on your drink, eyes wide, “Excuse me?”

“What? He’s your step brother, not full brother. You’re technically not even related at all—only by, like, the millionth marriage; it’s not weird, it’s simple facts. Plus,” Camille hums, “Meeks knows you want to fuck him too, and so do I,” Camille inspects her manicure, and Mina nods in her camera frame. “So if you’re not, move over so the rest of us can have a turn.”

“Who said that I wanted to fuck him?” You ask incredulously, in pure disbelief. “You talk about him like he’s some high school crush—“

“Because he is!” They say (yell) at the same time.

“You give him ‘fuck me’ eyes every day! So fuck him already!”

From outside your door, you swear you hear a soft chuckle, and a shadow disappears from under the crack.

“I hate you guys.”

“Aww! We love you too!”

When your little group calls him hot, and tells you all types of things about him: their fantasies, deepest desires, and telling you you’re missing out. Telling you that if you don’t fuck him, they will, all while they try. Eager to succeed.

How you hurriedly try to change the topic, telling them to shut up and stop talking about your brother like that. Your brother, you repeat. Stepbrother, they parrot. Not full, he agrees.

Namely that one friend….Camille, is it? Eren recognizes her from one of his lectures.

Whenever you bring her over, she’s trying to make some pass at him. In the kitchen, where he’s scrolling through some DM request, skimming the message. Tapping to see who sent it—if they’re hot, and replying to see if they’re free tonight. Biting into an apple in his other hand, Camille approaches him, with glossy lips and an all too practiced smile—“You look so good, handsome,” she’ll say, while running her hands over the definition of his muscles in his arm. Nicknaming him handsome amongst the other things she’d call him—Sexy, stunning, Prince Charming, his favorite. She feigns interest, asking him about his gym routine, his frequency, his meal plans; Does he prep? Does he diet? Doing everything in her power to fake like she’s interested in who he really is, to get him to pay attention to her. To get him alone. To get in his pants. To prove a point to you—“Your brother is easy,” she says, “he’s slept with, like, every girl on campus. You have to fuck him. Or I will.”

From where you stand, the expression on your face tells all: you’re equal parts horrified and embarrassed. Fists balled by your side, eyes wide like you’re about to blow a fuse; hell, he can see the smoke coming from your ears. Your heavy breathing, your impatience. You’re two seconds short of stomping your feet at her petulantly; like a child that hadn’t got something they wanted. And if he weren’t staring you in your face right now, he would’ve laughed at you.

Angrily, you huff her name, and you’re a little too quick to yank her by the wrist up to your room, saying something incoherent, in attempt to remind her that she’s here for you and not him. Ignoring her whining as you shove her up the stairs in front of you, pushing her with all of your strength to your bedroom, far, far away from the kitchen. That she’s your friend, not his fuckbuddy. It stirs up a feeling deep in your belly that irks you, and one you’d rather not unpack right now. One you push down, refusing to acknowledge, turning a blind eye to.

And, if Eren Jaeger didn’t know better, he would say that you were jealous. Jealous over the possibility of your brother fucking someone else; someone that’s not you.

Typically, he’d say he’s not interested. She’s not his type, but….he could entertain it, sure. Inflate his ego a little bit. And maybe, he’ll fuck her once. Make her cry out for him just to make you jealous. Leave marks on her to rile you up. Get you to feel something. Leave his door cracked just for you to see her riding him, raw. Revel in the fire in your eyes, the determination to get back at him. And maybe see those ‘fuck me’ eyes they were talking about, too.

It’s funny, he thinks, watching your reactions. You’re an enigma.

But, there’s something that’s always at the forefront of his mind. Something that nags and eats away at him, at his resolve. Restraint.

You never tell them no.

It’s a Thursday night, and you’re not out with your friends like usual.

Something came up, is what you’d told Mom.

One of the girls couldn’t make it, so you took a raincheck. A weak excuse, but it’s all you had at the time, and she believed you; if anything was bothering you, you’d tell her, you’re sure.

Nodding, you head back up the stairs to your room, where Eren is waiting outside for you; leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed. He’s in a dark green t-shirt, black pants with a black, leather belt, and his black Doc Martens. His centipede tattoo on his arm shows, and you’re drawn to it, flicking your eyes up where green eyes watch you, like murky waters. Dragging lazily over your form, taking in your appearance—you’re just in black pajama shorts and a blue tank top, but you feel exposed nonetheless. Naked. Bare.

You suppose that, to him, you already are.

Eren has a tendency to do that to you, you realize. He’s intense and captivating. Everything he does is entrancing.

And, unfortunately for you, you’re much more aware of it than you’d like to be.

A moment passes before you speak, “What do you want, Jaeger?”

“What makes you think I want somethin’?” He muses, eyes twinkling. A smile dances across his features, like in a stage play. You hardly ever address him by his last name, only doing so when you’re nervous. “For all you know, I could simply be curious about how my baby sister is doing, y’know, since you’re not with your friends n’ all.”

You roll your eyes. “Because I know you.” Eren laughs. Something twists in your belly at that.

Retrieving something from his pocket, he holds it up to you in the light. From it, you make out one of the objects to be his lighter, green and black, with a little ‘E’ written into the bottom. The other, you recognize to be a joint.

“Ever tried it?” Eren asks, curious.

“What….weed?” You say, crossing your arms.

He nods, pinching the joint between his forefinger and thumb, dangling it in front of your face. “Weed,” he repeats, continuing where you don’t, “you see me smoke it every day.” He shrugs. “‘M askin’ if you’ve ever tried it.”

You… haven’t.

You’ve been around it, sure. Some of your friends have tried it, offered it to you, even. All you’ve ever done is one edible that knocked you out of commission for a full 24 hours, and feeling like you were dying. And way, way too much to drink in one night.

The repercussions of which you’re still reaping, given that it’s brought up as a running joke within your friend group every time you go out. It seems like everyone remembers every detail of that night, except for you, of course.

But still you remain, putting on your best poker face. “No,” you say, halfheartedly. “I’ve never done..that,” you wave your hand, noncommittal. Dark eyes narrow on you. It’s technically not a lie, a full one anyway. It’s a half-truth, but somewhat of a truth nonetheless. He eyes you for a moment, parting his lips to say something, but decides against it. It’s good enough for him, anyway.

“D’ya want to?”

You nearly choke. “Huh?”

“I said, d’ya want to?”

A question that has you looking around, confused. “Are you sure you’re, uh,” you tap your head, “alright up there? Who are you, and what have you done with Eren?”

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t be a dickhead.” He says with a sigh, “Answer me.”

You bite your lip and think for a moment.

Eren Jaeger, whose barely done so much as talk to you for as long as you’ve been here—months now—and as obnoxious and protective over his stash of weed as he is, is offering for you to smoke with him. You. Mr. ‘Don’t touch my stuff and stay the fuck out of my way.’

Him.

Surprised, your eyes flicker from Eren’s to the joint in his hand, and you debate on if he’s truly serious with the question he’s asking you. You figure you must be looking at him like he grew a third head, as his eyebrows raise expectantly.

“I’ve, uh,” you shake your head and hold up your hands. “I’ve never done it before, so I don’t know if I’d be any good—” Eren cuts you off with a snort.

“There’s nothin’ to be ‘good’ or whatever at,” He grunts, pushing himself up off the wall, “I’ll teach you. C’mon.”

He’s never this nice to you, hardly ever willing to talk to you, let alone have you smoke his weed. It’s new, foreign and honestly, you’re a little nervous.

When you don’t move, Eren quirks an eyebrow up at you. “We don’t have all day.”

“Oh, right,” you mumble, and follow him down the hall to his room.

“So how do I do it?”

Eren grunts at you to repeat your question and flicks off the overhead light to turn on his LED lights. He chucks the remote on the unmade bed and settles down on his sheets, crossing his legs.

“How do I do it?” You repeat yourself and watch him from where you stand in the doorway, apprehensive. You followed him all the way down the hall, watching as he got comfortable in his room, perched in the open doorway. He raises an eyebrow and you continued, “Smoke weed, I mean.”

“Well, first you c’mere and close the fuckin’ door.” he jerks his head and you take a shaky step in, pushing the door together behind you. It’s just smoking, you tell yourself, how bad could it be?

When he notices you’re still hugging the door, he sighs. “I won’t bite you, you don’t have to sit there lookin’ so awkward.”

“I don’t look awkward.” The words come out more harsh than you’d like.

“Uh, yeah you do. Get closer,” Eren tells you, patting the spot beside him. “Up here.”

Taking a deep breath, you climb onto the spot, hugging yourself as close as you can, avoiding eye contact with Eren.

“Watch me.” Eren says and you nod. The close proximity allows your knees to touch, and your heart flutters a bit inside your chest—absolutely not from him. It’s from--you swallow the lump in your throat--the excitement of trying a new thing, finally seeing what your friends are talking about…

Right.

He puts the joint between his fingertips, cupping his hand around the lighter as he flicks it, holding the burning flame over the twisted end. He rotates it slowly, making sure all the ends burn. He's concentrated - tongue sticking out of his mouth, brows furrowed in complete focus; holding it up for you to see.

He’s cute when he concentrates, you think. Cute when he’s quiet, too.

Eren puts it to his lips and you, unable to tear your eyes away, watch, mesmerized at him in all his glory. He pulls it away, and you marvel at the ease of which he inhales; smoothly, slowly, letting the smoke fill his lungs.

And then he exhales slowly, the same pace at which he inhaled. The smoke exits his mouth and feathers off somewhere into the room. In your ears, your heartbeat pounds, encircling you.

You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him until he laughs and snaps you out of your trance. “What?”

“You’re gaping like a fish,” he adjusts his position and scoots a little further back, stretching out his legs.

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Whatever,” he shifts the joint to his other hand, patting his lap with the newly freed one. “Come sit. I wanna show you something.”

Your eyebrow quirks. “...On your lap?”

“You said you wanted to learn, right?” You nod. “Then c’mere.”

“Um, okay,” you mumble, reluctantly shifting onto his lap. Bracing your thighs on the sides of his, you’re sitting in his lap, facing him. He holds the joint out for you to hold it, and you do; pinching the top between your fingertips like he did, careful not to squeeze too hard.

Eren puts his hands on the back of your thighs and pitches you forward, completely catching you by surprise. You yelp, and he grins, wide and toothy. “Sorry,” he says in a low voice, like it’s meant for your ears only. His fingers smooth up the backs of your legs, and come to sit just below the swell of your ass, daring. You start to say something, something smart or sarcastic maybe, but it fizzles out on your tongue when he licks his lips; you’re staring, unmoving.

It’s all too much for you to know that you’re inches, if not mere centimeters above his dick. And, if you didn’t know better, you’d bet twenty bucks that he’s rock hard right now. The notion of grinding down on him isn’t lost on you in this moment, remaining at the forefront of your every desire right now.

What scares you, though, is the fact that you know this. And that these ideas, fantasies, whatever they are, don’t scare you. That in itself terrifies you to your core. It’d be so embarrassing to have to explain yourselves if your parents walked in right now—in fact, you don’t think you could explain yourself if given the chance. You don’t know what to say; afraid you'll be reduced to a stuttering mess. He's....not supposed to have this effect on you.

Shame on you.

The crinkle of a water bottle snaps you out of your trance. Eren plucks off the cap and takes a few gulps—you’re too busy watching his Adam's apple move. Asking yourself when he got so…..attractive, all of a sudden. So….very, not…him? Is this just a one-off? A fleeting moment? Is he just..testing the waters with you? Using you? Maybe you’re—

“Watch me, yeah?” —in too over your head. You don’t trust your mouth to speak, so you just nod meekly.

In your hand, he angles the joint toward him; pulling it back to his lips, slowly inhaling. From below, he watches you, as your eyes fall to his lips, watching him intently. He relishes the way you look at him, like he's the most interesting thing you’d ever seen; capturing your undivided and sole attention, making him feel powerful. Sparking a need in him to savor that look, to engrave it in his memory; to hold it forever.

For you to reserve that look, that one specifically, for him and him only. To spoil it so much for you that you couldn’t possibly look at anyone else like that, because they don’t deserve it. Not from you.

Immediately, with that thought, Eren also wonders what other looks he can get you to make.

Holding the smoke in his mouth, Eren raises a hand gup to cup the back of your neck, the other cupping your jaw. You look so pretty, like something from a movie—all doe-eyed, glassy, waiting for him to make his move. His thumb finds your bottom lip, lingering for a moment before tugging it down, opening it slightly. Slowly, he closes the distance. Your eyes flutter shut, and your entire body melts into the kiss—warm and sweet; you taste like the kiwi chapstick you always wear, the one in the pink tube you carry with you everywhere you go. Saccharine and savory, he wants—needs more. Of you, of everything.

Your free hand finds its way in his hair, tugging at his nape; he moans in your mouth, slowly pushing the smoke from his lips, between yours. Exhaling slowly, releasing it but taking in you—greedily, without shame or hesitation.

His hands crawl downward from you, ghosting over your collarbone and your sides; settling down to cup the back of your thighs, pulling you deeper into him, spreading your legs so he fits better between them. Eren drinks every noise from you like water, hungrily swallowing everything and still, it’s not enough for him.

A desire that settles deep within his body, a fire that renders him insatiable, pressing hard enough to bruise as he rolls his hips upward. You gasp, and nearly drop what’s between your fingers—he doesn’t stop. Strong hands keep you in a firm grip, keeping you still as you writhe; inching away from him, sensitive already. Every nudge of him against your clit has you gasping; you’re soaked, through your panties and your shorts. Begging for him to touch you, pleading through your cries.

None of this is normal—a big brother kissing his little sister—but, in that moment, neither of you can complain.

If you asked Eren, he wouldn’t know how long it’s been since you started. Since he asked you if you’d ever smoked, if you wanted to smoke. With him.

Maybe that was an hour ago. Or two.

Or three.

He’s not entirely sure how you got from point A to B; you were just supposed to smoke, nothing more. Not kiss, not touch, not hug—definitely not get on his lap. But he got bold, daring; ending up with you moaning and writhing underneath him; both high, overstimulated and sensitive, having smoked the rest of the joint the same way—him inhaling and puffing it into your mouth—and in your high, you got feverish. Hungry. In hindsight, he should’ve known it was a bad idea: kissing you like that. He knew that kissing you was the tip of the iceberg, and the beginning of his descent into madness. The point of no return—that when he got a taste of you, he’s as good as gone. Completely done for.

One hit deep and he caved, despite his better judgment.

It’s like a river that pulls him in, rivulets of water pulling him in, asking him to get lost. Demanding it of him, as the least he could offer to you; before it gets to be too much, before he swims too deep in the river; struggling, he pulls himself up.

“Have,” Eren parts from the kiss, panting, to push your foreheads together when you whine, “have you done this before?”

And technically, yes, you have.

Not the smoking thing, no (a full-truth this time), but you’ve had sex. Once. In your early days of college, at a party Mina dragged you to; some guy whose name you don’t remember, who you were too fucked up to ever hear in the first place. With a guy who didn’t care about you, who you don’t care about. It wasn’t much of a first, if you’re honest.

“Once,” you murmur, cupping his face between your hands, “at a party in my freshman year; Meeks invited me, I was drunk n’ a mess.” Eren begins to pout, and it makes you laugh, genuinely.

“It doesn’t count t’me, I barely remember it,” you peck his lips, “c’n still be you, if y’want,” A do-over.

You can practically see him swell with pride; if he had half a mind to think, he’d call this desire to be important, a desire to possess, to keep; you’re his. Some dumb fuck fucked up, now he gets to take your virginity. Be your proper first—be something memorable for you, in a good way.

In his haze, he grins. “’M make y’feel good, yeah? D’ya trust me, baby?”

“‘course,” you reply, with a grin of your own.

“Good girl,” he praises you, curling his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt to pull it off of you, lifting the fabric of the tank over your breasts, pressing kisses to your warm skin. They’re sloppy, wet kisses—each press of his mouth shoots fireworks throughout your body, electrifying your fingertips. He presses his palms against your sides, leaning down; “my favorite girl,” he tells you, and he means it. Even as he takes a nipple into his mouth and pinches the other with his fingers; you arch your back up into him.

You’re better than anyone he’d ever had before; something dangerous: intoxicating, addicting, like something he can’t have. Shouldn’t be allowed to have, like something forbidden. Something so sweet, like a strawberry in the sun. Meant to be devoured and savored at the same time.

But, something forbidden must be devoured, after all.

That justifies it in his fucked up brain. Oils the cogs in his mind to spin, to conjure up and fan those flames. He reminds himself that he’s just helping. Teaching. Helping guide you for future partners—for when you move out and get out into the world. Get married. When you’re…away from him.

He is being nothing more than a helping, caring older brother; passing on his knowledge to the next…right?

It’s what he tells himself when he hooks his thumbs under the elastic band of your night shorts, tugging them down your legs. Again, when he kisses your cunt through your panties, peeling them up to tease you; blowing on your clit to tease you when you squirm.

You’re beautiful, like this, while being split open by Eren’s tongue, his fingers. Fisting his hair to push him deeper, to make him stop being so mean. At one point he even flips you—has you sitting your full weight on him while he eats you from below; keeping you still so you can’t run, grinding your hips on his face and saying his name like a chant, goes straight to his dick.

He spends the entire night tasting you—with his tongue, his fingers, figuring out just what makes you lose it; what makes you sound as pretty as you do when you beg him to let you cum and your legs shake from the tension snapping; gushing all over his fingers, dripping down his arms and coating the insides of your legs.

Typically he’d want something, expect something from his partners in exchange for this. But tonight, he’s unable, unwilling to let go of you, nor ask you to do such a thing; he’s selflessly selfish, with a penchant for you instead.

Eren decides then, that his name coming from your pretty lips, words smooth like honey and sweet like a cherry, is all he wants to hear for the rest of his life; all breathy, all because of him.

Something forbidden must be devoured, and devour you he will.

It’s sick, it’s twisted, it’s wrong, but he doesn’t care—he’ll be that. He’s gotten a taste of the forbidden fruit, and he doesn’t want to relinquish it, not ever; especially not to someone that doesn’t deserve it.

Eren deserves it, him and him only.

When you cum a fourth time on him that night, something clicks for Eren. Something he’s already known deep down, he just hadn’t truly acknowledged, maybe.

He cannot give you up, to anyone. Not to a boyfriend, girlfriend, a friend, whomever, whatever. You’re his, you have to be, and there’s this carnal need to keep you; close and away from everyone else.

Since then, you’d been “hanging out” nearly every day.

You’d started rain checking your dates with friends more and more to be with Eren. All over each other as soon as class let out, and suddenly, to your parents, you just magically started “getting along” one day. Neither of them knew what was up, why Eren suddenly took an interest in studying, but they didn’t pay it any mind. Too overjoyed and surprised to hear that you’d become his personal tutor.

You helped him keep his grades up, enough to be able to balance that and being on the football team; so much so that his friends noticed. Connie chalked it up to that sister of his. And, while he wasn’t wrong, he sure as shit wasn’t gonna give him the satisfaction of being right about something for once. Not from him.

Plus he….knows some things too. He’s good enough in sports, like football and basketball. He knows enough to get by and that’s sufficient, he’d say. More than enough for you and, well, you might’ve been his tutor in academics, but he was yours in everything else.

It was during one of your (actual) tutoring sessions, actually, that you asked to suck him off.

In your hunt, you started doing some….research. Pulling up that private tab on your browser, typing in ‘how to give a blowjob’ and ‘how to give head for women’ in the search bar. You knew that it was something you were supposed to—er, expected to do, rather, and you wanted to try something on Eren.

Sitting in your room, door cracked; you’re crossed on your bed, and he’s seated across from you on the pullout ottoman. Text book in your laps, dressed in casual clothes—for him, a black tee paired with a pair of ripped black jeans; for you, a dark, knee length skirt and a sweater, with a pink tank top underneath in case you got too warm during the day.

Something rare for the both of you, as of late. Casually enjoying each other’s company, no touching or kissing, or hugging even. Focusing on school; what you’re good at and he’s not. It should be relaxing for you, a way to wind down after the week you’ve had—filled with nothing but fucking Eren—however, it only served to make you anxious, instead. Eager to touch, to explore his body as he had yours; find out what makes him feel good, like he did for you.

From across the room, Eren pulls you out of your head, “Are you listening?”

“Huh?” you blink, once, twice, before realizing, “oh, I’m sorry—what did you say?”

“I asked if you were listening; I was repeating the stupid shit you told me to say,” he snorts, closing his textbook. “But I guess not.”

“Sorry.” He waves a dismissive hand, leaning against the wall. He crosses his arms over his chest, and that key-shaped necklace he wears glints in the light from your lamp. The very same necklace you’ve thought about dangling over your—

“What’re you thinking about?” He watches you from

the wall, amused.

“It’s just…” you breathe, taking your lip between your teeth; you’re oddly serious, making a face that Eren can’t quite put his finger on, “can I, uh, suck your dick?”

“Is this right?” you ask, from your place between his legs, palming him through his pants. He looks down at you, seated atop the plush covers of your bed while you’re kneeling on the blue circle rug in front of him. Eager to learn, to please; it’s admirable.

“Yeah,” he half moans, involuntarily bucking his hips up to your touch. Eren swallows thickly, forcing his anxiety down, “you can, um, get it out if y’want.” His cock strains against the fabric of his boxers, leaking from the tip. It peeks from the waistband of his boxers, springing free when you peel the material down his thighs—he’s huge, you come to notice. It’s a wonder how that thing is ever going to fit in your mouth, and in you in general.

It’s thick and long; weeping, dribbling precum down the sides, smearing along the head; angry and red. The shaft itself is his skin tone, if not a little darker, and there’s a fair amount of hair too—similar to what you’ve seen before. Bigger than what you’ve seen before.

You watch him with curious eyes as you take him in your hands, observing his face contort when you squeeze. “Am I holding it right? Does it feel good?”

Fuck. “Yeah,” he says, “now you should—shit,” He hisses, doing his best to keep his voice down in order to not tell whoever was home what you were doing. The door to the hall was wide open, a straight shot to seeing the two of you; you on your knees and him half-naked, with his hard cock in your hands. And the both of you liking it. “You can hold it tighter, if you—mm—want; like that,” he breathes shakily when your hold tightens, fiddling with the sheets beneath him. He’s trying to keep it cool, remain calm, but he’s waning. “Keep—keep going,”

Your touch is so hot it’s scorching; torching him from the outside in. Each drag of your hands up his cock has him fighting to keep from cumming fast—it’s a moment of teaching, not weakness. He’s…he’s not normally like this; in fact, he’s never been like this before. He never folds this easily from head—you’re just, really really pretty, and if he opens his eyes to you staring at him like that he’ll cum immediately, untouched; he’s fucked.

Jesus, fuck, why did you have to be like this?

“You can—uh—lick it if you want,” Eren tells you, strained. He’s not good at giving directions gently—to someone genuinely trying to learn; he’s too sensitive; out of his element, uncomfortable. But he’s trying.

He makes the mistake of looking at you when your tongue flits from between your lips, wet, gliding over his slick tip; you’re practically grinning at him, satisfied at having reduced him to almost

nothing after barely doing anything. A simple lick has his balls tightening, almost sending him hurling over the edge; his face does nothing but cheer you on when you lap at him, tongue flat against the frenulum.

He hisses at the contact, forcing himself to tear his eyes away; Eren was trying really hard to keep control, to not fuck your face; but the way you’re looking at him makes it ten times harder. You shift forward on your knees, eyebrows furrowing in concern. Mock? He’s not sure.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, in that silk voice of yours, “you look like you’re in pain.”

“M fine,” he assures you through gritted teeth, “just fine.” You put your hands on his thighs and push yourself upward, close enough to bump his nose with your own; he feels your breath fanning his face. The proximity isn’t helping.

“’ren,” you start, with that nickname that has his stomach doing backflips, “did I do something?” An inflection of genuine concern has him flashing his eyes open; anything remotely teasing in your gaze before has been replaced by worry, that you’ve hurt him or something.

“No,” Eren whispers, shaking his head. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, running his thumbs over the apples; “you didn’t hurt me, ‘m fine; you’re doing really good.”

That has your eyes twinkling. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he snorts, still holding you when you settle back on your calves and take him in your grasp; carefully observing him for any changes. You’re so cute; almost too cute. If you did anything else, he might cum and ruin it too fast.

“Open,” he taps your lip with his thumb, nudging the tip against your mouth, “put it in f’me, yeah?” Doing as you’re told, you eagerly part your lips, taking him in—the sight of your lips curled around him has his head spinning. Eren can hold out for long, he can, but when it comes to you, he feels like a fucking virgin again.

You’re looking up at him to gauge his reactions, taking him in little by little; “don’t—fuck—you don’t have to take it—ah—all in,” he tells you, not wanting to choke you; you hum and pull back an inch, leaving a ring of lip gloss behind. “But you’re—fuck—taking me so well. ‘M proud of you.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises you, eyes involuntarily tracing the string of saliva dribbling down your chin. You gather it with your fingers, coating your hand before gripping his cock again, slowly pumping your hand up and down; you work into a rhythm, and run your thumb back and forth over the tip.

Eren watches you carefully with half-lidded eyes, biting down on his lip in an attempt to stifle his sounds—failing miserably; the schlick of your hand over him, the glint in your eye as you stroke and squeeze him, slapping his cock on your tongue wrestles a garbled cry from his throat, and has him flexing every nearly muscle in his body to keep from nutting.

You let a glob of drool fall from your tongue, pooling on the tip, before taking him completely in your mouth; in and out of your mouth seemingly with ease now that you’ve practiced, flattening your tongue to fit more of him in. His hands find their way to the back of your neck as you bob your head up his length; “Baby—baby,” he shudders, lightly pushing at your shoulders, pleading for you to have mercy on him; but you don’t relent.

He’s sure he’s loud, loud enough for the neighbors to hear—but he doesn’t care, he can’t care; you’re swallowing him greedily, fully, and he’s losing his fuckin’ mind. Holding onto the collar of your sweater like an anchor, hunched over you: weak, spineless, crying out for you. The tension building in his tummy is a thread about to snap, being twisted and pulled so tightly; and peering at you through damp lashes is what makes it snap—teary eyed and messy, spit falling all down your chin and gathering in the space between your tits; you look so debauched; so fucked out; so ruined, and so fuckin’ pretty.

His orgasm comes over him in shockwaves, cum spurting onto your tongue and deep into your mouth; you choke, surprised, but stay until he’s finished, pumping him til’ he’s given you all he has.

Releasing him with a small ‘pop’, you lean back on your legs; running your hands up his thighs, sides—smoothing them up the sides of his neck and jaw to cradle it, lifting it up to look him in the eyes. You’ve ruined him, you can tell. He knows you can—the grin on your face is fuckin’ telling.

“Good?” You ask, a question you more than know the answer to.

“……yeah,” he grumbles and you laugh, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“‘M glad.”

“Shut up.” Embarrassing.

Weeks go by where you’re untouched, left high and dry off Eren’s touch.

You haven’t so much as been in the same room for more than five minutes; he’s reverted to how he was before, when you met. He’s short with you, brash; impatient and unwilling to speak to you—he’s always in his room with his door closed, playing music loud so he can’t hear you. He waits until you’re asleep to come out, avoiding you in any way he can.

It makes you sad, leaves you feeling dejected. Rejected. You feel he’s breaking up with you in a way—he doesn’t answer your texts, and your calls go straight to voicemail; you know he’s getting them, because he reads them immediately after.

sent: 10:43 pm | you: ren? (read 10:43 pm)

sent: 10:43 pm | you: i miss you. (read 10:43 pm)

You hover over the keyboard before deciding to type a third message.

sent: 10:45 pm | you: i don’t know if you’re mad at me but

sent: 10:45 pm | you: whatever i did, i’m sorry. i

sent: 10:45 pm | you: didn’t mean to upset you.

(read 10:45 pm)

It goes on like that for a while: Eren ignoring you, reading your messages. Avoiding you at every turn, going so far as to lock his door when he’s gone; and you feel like you’ve made a mistake. Crossed a line, gone too far. A stark feeling of regret simmers beneath the surface, and it makes you sick.

It’s a dark, Friday night.

Eren’s in his room, boots kicked off and dressed in nothing but a black t-shirt and black and white pajama pants. They hang loose around his ankles, but they’re comfortable. Not too long or too short. He’s home alone—his dad and your mom are on some kind of date and spending the night in some expensive hotel up north. He doesn’t know how long they’ll be gone—he doesn’t care. They left enough money for you two to last the week if you had to, and told him to “play nice,” whatever that means. Typical for them, he thinks.

You’re off drinking with some of your girlfriends; at some bar or house party they’ve probably dragged you to despite your feeble protests; taking as many shots and free drinks as you can get before you black out.

You’ve been out for a few hours, since 9. It’s 2 am when he peeks at the clock, flashing at him in red letters on the display. The latest you’ve been out so far is a little past 1, having to get to class early the next day.

The clock in the upper corner of his phone reads 2:04 am when his phone rings. A plain contact, no picture; a single eye roll emoticon where a name would be. He has to do a double take at his screen; you don’t contact him for anything, usually—as the two of you hardly speak in person, let alone over text.

It rings three times before he clicks the green ‘answer call’ button, holding the device up to his ear. You are at a party: in the background he hears loud music, with bass so heavy it’s giving him a headache. Giggling, and a small, “don’t—!” before a glass crashes to the floor.

It takes a beat before you realize he even picked up.

“C’n,” you start, trailing off in a murmur, “….me up?”

“What?” He sighs. You’re drunk—shitfaced. Off your ass and absolutely not in a state to drive, or even speak clearly. “Can’t hear you, speak up.”

“‘ren,” His breath catches in his throat at the name while you hiccup and giggle at something he can’t hear, “can you pick me up pleaaaaase, pretty pretty—“

“Fine,” He says; a little too harshly, he realizes, when the line quiets. It crosses his mind to apologize, but he shakes it off. “Text me the address,” Eren throws on his jacket, slips into the black Crocs he could find, and plucks his keys off the ring beside his bedroom door, “n’ don’t fuckin’ get off the phone until I see you.”

He pulls up beside you in his car, as dark as the night. He unlatches his seatbelt and comes out, hood tugged over his head—someone says something to him, something he barely hears; a greeting, something, whatever. He figures it’s one of your friends.

You’re wearing that dress, with those black heels. Red bottoms. The dress he gifted you as a sorry Christmas present last year, a last minute gift. A minidress, satin, with thin straps on the shoulders. It shows more of your skin than you’d like, you’d said. Figured you’d never wear it anyway, that it’d be buried in the depths of your closet - but you’re wearing it now. It rides up your thighs, bunching at your hips, the bottom of your ass peeking out, and he sees red; feels green with jealousy. Envy. You look beautiful, stunning, even as unbalanced and clumsy as you are. Blinking up at him with those eyes and a brighter smile than in the pictures of you he’s seen, and he can’t help but wonder.

Did you wear this for him? For someone else? Did….do you look at them like that, too? He’d rather not know the answer.

The tips of his ears grow warm, and he’s at a loss for words. It’s all he can do to blink when you approach him, and catch you on unsteady footing. When your tits squish his chest, he tries so, so hard not to let that go to straight to his dick.

“Get in,” he tugs you toward the door of his car, shoving it open to put you on the seat. You’re clinging to him, whining something about not wanting to leave him; you live in the same house, he reminds you, peeling you off his front. He doesn’t look you in the eyes, scooping your legs into the car and buckling you in; he slams the door harder than he means to, and sees you jump through the tint of his passenger window.

The ride home is long. Feels drawn out, agonizing.

He wasn’t supposed to have to pick you up; you didn’t plan on drinking as much as you did tonight. All you wanted was a night of peace, harmless fun with your girls, since you hadn't seen them in a while—one of your friends was supposed to take you home, but ended up drinking too much herself.

Peering at him through your lashes, you take his appearance in. He still has his hood on his head. Dressed in his night clothes. His eyes are dark, holding an expression you can’t make out; he doesn’t even look at you. Intensely focused on the road, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white; his brows furrow like he’s irked, angry.

You’ve long stopped saying anything, opting for silence in fear of embarrassing yourself any further; sobering up. The silence in the car is deafening, palpable, and neither of you can break it. You don’t know how.

Eren turns the radio to a random station. Something you know, to make you comfortable. The street lights shine through the windows, briefly illuminating your lap when you pass.

This is the most he's talked to you in weeks, almost months—his anger feels like it’s directed at you, somehow.; that you’re the root cause. And no matter what you do, you can't get him to look at you. To see you.

Each stop light feels like forever. Each green light isn’t fast enough. The wind blowing through the windows doesn’t allow you enough room to breathe, even as you turn towards it, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding; absentmindedly picking at the strings of your dress.

When the two of you pull into your driveway, he parks the car. He pushes the button to turn the engine off, and the music stops, leaving you right where you started. From the light, you gaze veers to your left, where Eren’s still staring ahead, unmoving.

He gets quiet when something bothers him, you’ve come to note. In the past year, you’ve only seen him so upset a handful of times—each time as foreign as the last. As confusing as the last. You don’t know where it comes from, but never before had it been wholly directed at you.

He’s wordless when he slips out the car. When he clicks open your door and holds out his hand for you to take after you unbuckle yourself; drags you, shakily, to the door; twisting his key in the lock, tossing his shoes to the side, bounding up the steps. Leaving you, alone, in the foyer. In the dark.

You feel you’ll never understand him.

So, you don't try. Not anymore.

You've gone through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally—acceptance. Some happened thrice before you moved on, others took forever to get to. But, you’ve come out on your two feet, deciding you're not crying over him anymore, wasting time. You've grown to accept your place in his life and his in yours—that which is minimal; nonexistent. A once substantial and monumental position filled by someone you naively believed to be worthy, reduced to dust and ashes. A relationship doomed from the start, destined to crash down on the two of you.

A 'relationship' that shouldn't have been one, you realize. And acknowledge.

You end up taking vacations with your mom as often as before. Visiting new places and seeing new horizons, tasting drinks and partying until your feet hurt—a life that most would think doesn't suit you, and normally, you'd agree. It'd make you uncomfortable and become a recluse; the old you would, anyway. You spend your weeks under the wing of your Ma, rekindling your relationship; her regaining her best friend. You've started going to therapy, smiling more; branching out to new groups of people, enjoying yourself.

Your paths crossed less, and you felt happy.

You even started seeing a new guy, Colt, from a friend of a friend. He’s really nice; a year younger than you, and he works part time at his family’s restaurant; he takes you on beautiful dates, makes the effort to meet your family, to get to know them, to make you happy. But he can’t quite seem to crack Eren.

You’re not surprised.

Sometimes you bring him home—for dinner, or just to lounge; your mom loves him and your dad thinks he’s perfect for you, but Eren….just hates him. He regards him the same way he does you now, despite hardly crossing paths, he finds a way to make you miserable; either by the company he brings home or getting into petty fights with your boyfriend.

Sometimes, when you’re watching TV on the couch with Colt, you feel eyes burning holes into the back of your head.

You don’t mind; you’re over Eren, after all. He’s a thought in the back of your mind, a face in your rear view. So, it doesn’t bother you that much. Anymore.

“So, how’s the boyfriend?” Mina asks; you’re on FaceTime with your friends—Mina and Camille—catching up on weekly “girl talk”. Something you’ve missed dearly.

“Oooh, Colt,” Camille sings, flipping the page in her book; “Tell us, baby sister—have you fucked yet?”

“Camille!”

“Suddenly I’m the bad guy for asking the questions,” Camille sighs, pushing her sunglasses up, “the people want to know! Tell us, tell us,”

Halfway on the kitchen counter, you’re resting with your arms folded underneath your head—grinning, stupidly. “He’s very nice; he makes me happy,” that elicits ‘ooh-la-la’s from your two friends. “He took me on a date to the carnival the other day—he won me a Hello Kitty bear from a strength game,” you laugh, “we’ve…gotten close? I guess? We haven’t like, fucked fucked yet, but we haven’t not fucked either.”

They gasp in unison, clutching their nonexistent pearls—”Fucked fucked? What ever could you mean?”

Your face gets warm, and your voice drops to a murmur, “we’ve……we fucked, okay? But it wasn’t like—movie sex, or whatever—it was cute,” you push your cheek to the cold marble counter, “he’s really cute…and he knows what he’s doing.”

Mina and Camille cheer loudly, and you bury your face in your arms. “Shut up,”

“We’re happy for you!” they exclaim, “Miss Goody Two Shoes finally got laid,”

“Be quiet!” The three of you laugh again.

You only look up when you hear footsteps retreating, catching Eren’s shadow head up the stairs. Somewhere deep in your heart, it still stings to see him ignore you; to pretend to not notice when he does, to not blink when he’s brought up.

It hurts, but you’ve moved on.

“You okay?” You blink, snapping out of it.

“Yeah,” you look back down at your two friends, “keep talking.”

Haven’t you?

Eren doesn’t know anything.

He doesn’t what he’s doing, or how to feel, or how you feel. He’s spent the last two months in a shell of himself; completely unrecognizable to him, his dad, his friends—his mom, even. Attended every function he was invited to (and those he wasn’t) just to feel something. Something other than pain. Other than the ugly face of regret, anguish. He’s been drunk off his ass and high until the sun comes up, only to pass out and do it all over again the next day—doing lines longer than your hair.

He remembers the concern that painted his mom’s face when she held him, peeling him out of the bed he all but buried himself in.

He hates how he made her feel; how it made her look at him, like she didn’t know him. But his mom, Carla, wasn’t mad at him—she held him like he was five again, after he scraped his knee on the sidewalk. She held his hand gently, carefully, helping him get showered and take care of himself. Giving him his first proper meal in what feels like forever—caring for him beyond the surface; showing him love. A love that doesn’t hurt, that doesn’t fester and billow and explode in his face, fiery and hot like a volcano.

A love that’s unconditional—one he can’t push away; one he can’t ruin, by moral or by will. A gold that stays golden, pure, after everything else turns to ash.

It’s his fault. As usual.

He knew what he was getting into; the ramifications and the backlash he’d get when he found out—he supposes that’s what spurred him to do it in the first place. What kept him going, time and time again, until he was in too deep. And the funny thing is, is that he knew that. He knew he was beyond repair, beyond return. In a place that he couldn’t climb out from, no matter the hands that held him.

It’s what he thinks about when he sees you, full of joy and happy. The best life you’ve ever lived—kissed by the sun and shining like it too, embracing your friends and your family and everyone around you too; giving the same love you’re given in return.

Except to him, of course. And he cannot blame anyone but himself.

Eren is, and he’d never admit it, heartbroken. Jealous. Envious of your new boyfriend. Colt. The man that held you in the same way he did, kissed you like he did. Heard your laugh day in and day out, from sunrise to nightfall. Spending countless nights with you, getting to know you in all the ways—not just what made you happy or sad, or angry.

It's not to say that he’s bitter, because he doesn’t prefer that word. He’s original. The first. The most memorable. He’s got this nagging fuckin’ voice in his head, going it’s not like you, Jaeger; to get so caught up in a girl you can’t think.

And yeah, he’d agree. It’s not like him at all.

He wonders if you think about him too, in the ways he thinks about you. If you still see him when you touch yourself at night; in his mind, the first thing that comes is you. The only thing that works, that he can even get hard for.

He hopes you wish it was him fucking you, and not Colt.

From what he hears at night against that shared wall, he knows he could do better. That he's done better.

If he’s still what your friends talk about in those hushed tones, and in your headphones when it’s late at night; if, when you’re on your vacations, you wish he was there too. Why?

Because he does.

Eren Jaeger pisses you off.

He digs under your skin like a parasite, eating away at you until you snap; prove that you’re all bark, no bite. Until you’re two seconds away from snapping him in half like wood.

All because he won’t stop coming in your room. He does it when you’re not there—you’ve found him in your bed numerous times, fucking up your sheets, putting his outside shoes on your pillows. Shameless when you tell him off for it, fuming, and unmoving when you try to make him get out. He picks the lock to your door when you try to keep him at bay, tipping over your picture frames and tearing your pictures and lights from the walls—he dumps your dirty laundry on the floor, and puts his stinky socks right underneath your pillow.

He’s nasty. Irritating.

A nightmare to live with—and if you didn’t hate him before, you do now. It doesn’t help that this is his first series of interactions with you after he overheard your conversations and met your boyfriend. He started being a little shit right then, going from avoiding you like you had the plague, to invading your personal space.

He’s in your business all the time—stealing shoes and socks from your room while you’re on the phone, hiding your textbooks, giving unwarranted comments about your friends. He grins at you with those dimples when he does it. Bright, like he’d never done anything wrong. Never has done anything wrong in his whole life; squeaky clean.

It makes you sick.

Recently, you’ve found out that he’s gone so far as to poke holes in the condoms you use with your boyfriend, leaving the two of you to go on unnecessarily awkward and long trips to buy Plan B.

The ones stashed in the back of your underwear drawer, which was full when you put it in there, by the way. The drawer that’s progressively gotten lighter and lighter, and you’re having to do loads of laundry and purchase new underwear more frequently.

It just keeps going missing.

Every time your hamper is dumped on your floor, you notice your panties missing. First it was the plain pink ones, then the blue ones, the red ones, and now the polka dot ones you bought a week ago. He’s always watching you, taking your clothes out of the dryer—checking your underwear before you leave, recounting when you think you’ve missed a pair; narrowing your eyes when notice they’re gone.

You’d complain about it to your friends, but they’d just laugh at you; Mina would tease you, and Camille would just tell you to fuck him again. That doesn’t solve any of your problems, never mind the fact that they’re well aware that you have a good boyfriend; a boy actually capable of filling that role. And, if your theory ends up not being true and Eren’s just being a jackass, then you look insane, like you’ve lost your marbles. You can’t do that.

It’s Monday night, and you’re off from classes.

Freshly into the summer, you’re in your pajamas—a simple lavender tank top and a pair of pink night shorts, with the fuzzy black and white socks you bought for yourself—winding down with a glass of mango juice and your favorite reality TV show, The Real Housewives of Sina.

It’s fairly interesting and gets you through the days where you desperately need something to pass the time, to bridge the gap when you’re not doing anything—stuck in the house, and not susceptible to thoughts about you know who. It has seventeen going on eighteen seasons with twenty six episodes, each an hour long. You’re not proud to say that you’ve seen all of them twice before, and are on your second rewatch.

You’re fifteen minutes into the season three finale when you hear a car pull up, blasting music so loud it shakes the pictures on your fireplace. You roll your eyes and angle yourself away from the door, attempting to watch your show anyway.

There’s only one person it could be, you know when he turns his key in the door and comes in, awfully quiet. You give him a second to lock it and run up the stairs like he usually does, but either you’ve missed it somehow, or he doesn’t move at all.

You hope it’s the former, but are sorely mistaken when he rounds the couch, smiling entirely too wide. It unsettles you, understandably; immediately, you’re on the defensive. Expecting him to say something to you, to start something like he always does.

He says nothing—to your surprise. Instead, he climbs onto the end of the couch, opposite to you, and rests his feet on the table; boots and all. He’s in a light blue shirt today, one you didn’t even know he owned, and black jeans with chains dangling from the belt loops. He’s wearing his Docs, as usual, and that key necklace. The tattoo on his right arm is more detailed than you remember, more intricate. It extends from his shoulder, wrapping around his elbow and finishing at the knuckle of his middle finger. It’s quite pretty, you think. Too bad it’s on him.

Too bad for you, anyway.

You realize you’ve been staring too long when his tongue drags over his bottom lip and you follow it without meaning to.

Eren snickers, and you quickly tear your eyes away, focusing a little too intently on the show playing on the flatscreen; attempting to bury any shred of feeling that bubbled up, shoving it back down into the box in which you’ve kept under lock and key, never to be opened again.

“You look like you have to shit,” he comments, crudely, and you nearly choke.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said,” Eren reaches over to pluck a red grape from the fruit bowl you brought in, “that face makes you look constipated.”

“You’re disgusting,” you scoff.

“Maybe,” he hums, popping a grape in his mouth. “But I’m right.”

“You are not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not,” you huff, and turn up the TV to drown him out.

“Hey,” he calls, and you pretend you can’t hear him.

He calls for you again, and you’re ignoring him; he pokes you with his booted foot, “‘M right.”

“You’re gross, is what you are,” You quip, shoving his foot off your leg, and moving your bowl out of his reach, holding it against your chest in hopes he’ll leave it (and you) alone.

He tuts and sits up, grabbing a handful of grapes—narrowly missing your shirt.

You look at him, and he’s turned away watching the TV, like he didn’t almost grab your tit. Shamelessly chewing on your grapes from your bowl, licking his lips and fingers like he’s putting on a show.

Jackass.

Begrudgingly, you continue bringing your show, trying to ignore Eren’s presence; hugging the arm of the couch and curling into the blanket you brought.

He’s pleased with himself, smug. Happy to have gotten something out of you.

It’s Friday again, and Eren doesn’t have plans. It’s a rare occasion where there’s not a hangout planned, either as a group or solo. Everyone’s busy; everyone except him.

He usually wouldn’t mind—it leaves him time to get stuff done: wash clothes, make himself something to eat, binge a show or two. Being alone gives him time to think. Time to listen; to sit with his back against the wall and a single headphone in, playing nothing. Phone in hand, open to some random screen.

Tonight, though, he does.

You’re home, too; in your room, talking to your boyfriend.

Colt.

You’ve been talking for a while, but it’s mostly been background noise—only just now truly tuning in; going on about some plans you’re making for the weekend. He’s coming down to visit and bringing his little brother down to meet everyone, meaning he’ll have to fake playing a game of house again. Just peachy.

Somehow, Eren finds himself shuffling off his bed; phone and inhibitions long forgotten. He’s just boiling, jealous. Seeing all shades of red and turning a deep shade of green at the very mention of you with him. From what he knows, Colt’s a nice boy—too nice, he’d say; but Eren’s not known for being the best judge of character. He’s hypocritical, if anything; an understatement.

On all accounts, everything rational says he doesn’t have too much of a reason to hate the boy; that he shouldn’t try to find one either. To Eren’s chagrin, Colt is the “perfect” boyfriend—treats you decently, takes you places; dotes on you like he should. Loves you like he should; a love born of purity, not pollution.

If Eren were rational, he’d listen; ignore what he’s about to do - it wouldn’t even be a thought.

But, rationally doesn’t dull the pain in his heart. It does nothing to quell he ache he feels daily; like ice over a wound. It stings like a tear, a ripped off band-aid.

His brain shuts off when his feet carry him to your door; cracked slightly. He can see the light on your ceiling and your fan spinning, creaking like it always does. Something in his mind tells him that he must look insane right now, but he doesn’t care.

That voice dies out when he pushes your door open. It fizzles out like a spark, and an electric shock takes his place when you meet his eyes as he dashes over to your bed.

You barely have time to tell Colt to hold on, finger missing the mute button when you turn to face Eren, face scrunched. He plucks the device out of your hands, holding it out of reach.

“The fuck?” You yell at him, reaching for it. His skin is hot, searing; burning from the inside.

Do you know what you do to him?

“You’re loud,” he hisses. “Makin’

too much fuckin’ noise talking to your stupid fuckin’ boyfriend.”

“Sorry?” you yelp, when Eren pushes you backward.

“I can’t sleep ‘cause of you; babbling about your ‘plans for the weekend’ and how you’re ‘so excited to see him’,” he mocks you, disgusted. “It’s fuckin sick.”

“It’s none of your business!” you fire back, rising to your knees to grab your phone, and Eren pulls it further out of reach, dangling it over your head. “Give me my—fuck—my phone!”

“You make it my business.” He tosses the phone across the room, muffling whatever the man on the other side is saying. “We share a fuckin’ wall,” he points, “y’keep me up with that shit; if you’re gonna talk about fucking him, do it somewhere else.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me; since you wanna go around rubbing it in,” Eren continues, red in the face.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You’re angry too, shoving and hitting Eren in the chest, thrashing to get away from him; he narrowly avoids a kick to his balls that he’s sure would put him out of commission forever.

”My problem?” he starts, grabbing your arms when you go to punch him; pushing you backward instead, you down, climbing over you; in your face, panting, “My problem is you.” Eren pins your arms above your head, leaning in so close that your foreheads touch. There’s a fire flaring in your eyes: hot, a danger; warning him to stay away.

“The fuck’re you talking—“ He cuts you off; switching your arms to one hand, brushing his thumb over your exposed hip with the other, “it’s you,” he continues, voice low, “and these fuckin clothes of yours.”

“You go around the house, wearing shorts so fuckin small your ass hangs out the bottom, y’know that?”

“What?”

“You wear these shirts that your tits hang out of, too,” he groans, slotting himself between your legs, “always like you want someone to see you like that.” he grins, licking his lips. “If I didn’t know any better,” he murmurs, lips by your ear, “I’d say you’re enjoying this, no?”

“Fuck you, Jaeger.” There it goes again: Jaeger. Not jackass, not idiot, dumbass—but Jaeger. It almost makes him laugh, amuses him that you’re just as hungry for him as he is for you; after months of being away from you, pissing you off; he knows the venom in your tone is fake—a show you’re putting on to appease your little boyfriend.

“Tell me, baby sister,” he fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. “does he fuck you better than I did?” He hears your sharp intake of breath—“does he make you cum like me? Does he know what you like—that face you make when you’re close, how you plead when you’re denied; does your boyfriend—what’s his name, Colt?—know that?”

"Eren, stop—“

“He doesn’t, does he?” He continues, hooking his fingers under your shorts. Your eyes flutter shut, you’re desperately trying to ignore how warm your body feels; the way your hips buck when Eren rubs you through your panties, leaning in close to your neck. You’re trying to find something, anything to deny him right now; ignore how your breath catches in your throat when he kisses you and the pound of heartbeat in your ears.

You thought you were over this, over him; buried everything you “were” in the dirt and grate it to ashes. Until now, all you’d felt for him was contempt, anger, at him for deserting you. Leaving you, pushing you away like you’re nothing.

But now, the butterflies in your belly tell you otherwise, and he knows it. You’re fucked up beyond belief, the voice in fhe back of your mind reminds you;

reiterates it when your brother trails kisses from your neck to your collarbone. Nipping, sucking, biting at the skin there; desperate to leave a mark, a reminder. Of who you are and what he’s making you.

You’ve prided yourself on being much better than him, consciously or not—but now you’re stooping to his level, dragged by your ankles to the pits below.

“Eren,” you try again, with fake malice; your voice shakes, and you’re hoping he doesn’t notice. Doesn’t tease you, like he would.

“Mm-mm,” he tuts, sinking his teeth in your skin, “I can’t make you feel good ‘til you tell me who’s better—me, or him?” Your stomach twists into a knot, lurching forward when Eren’s blunt fingernail grazes your clit through the damp fabric. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him it’s not true, that it’d never be true, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes—not of sadness or regret, like they should be, but of frustration. No matter how hard you search, no matter how hard you try, reaching deep inside yourself—you can’t. And that terrifies you.

A flick to your clit makes you jump, and a moan falls from your lips accidentally. Eren smirks against your skin, “answer me, sister.”

Despite yourself, you answer him. Weakly, you mumble, “you.”

It doesn’t please him, only serves to make him push you harder, “Speak up,” he coos, “he can’t hear you.”

“You,” you stammer, rutting your hips against his finger, “you’re better.” Humiliating.

That simple admission, that one word coming from you, is like a safety net lifting. A sign that it’s all solidified, that you’re caving in; breaking down and admitting that you want him. That you’d always wanted him, since the beginning. Adrenaline rushes through him like lightning, rippling through his body like a fever; desire hits him like a truck, inflates his ego like a balloon.

And it feels fucking good.

Eren undresses you, sliding your shirt up and over your head, peeling your shorts off with your panties.

He relishes the fact that you’re completely bare in front of him, save for your socks, and he’s not.

Hungry blue-green eyes take you in; blown wide with lust, scanning your form like they’ve never seen you before. It makes you nervous—his stare boring into your skin. On instinct you go to cover up, but he stops you, reaching up to take your tits in his hands.

The pads of his thumbs brush the underside of them, moving upward to pinch them between it and his index fingers. Tugging, rolling them over his fingertips, making your nipples harden beneath his touch. The noises you make are music to his ears, escaping you even though you try to muffle them, squirming beneath him. You get louder when he leans down to put one in his mouth, arching your back as he flits his tongue over the bud.

Eren leans back on his calves, a clear string of saliva trailing from his lips. “So pretty for me,” he purrs, and your clit throbs between your legs. His hands smooth over your tummy, down your sides and over your legs. They hook around your thighs and yank you forward, spreading them open. “Look at you,” Eren drawls, dragging his middle finger up your slit teasingly. You whimper when he slides it in, then a second; they’re deep, you feel them. He moves them, dragging them languidly against your walls pushing them in and out. Wet.

“So noisy,” he chides playfully, “all this for me, baby?” He teases, grin plastered on his features. Through your haze, you muster the strength to roll your eyes at him.

“Shut up,” You say, but it wrenches from you like a sob. He laughs. He makes it a point to thrust them faster, sloppier. Stretching you out. Reaching knuckle deep every time they go in, finding your g-spot easily; like he knows you. He bends down to kiss you, swallowing your mewls and licking your lips. A few more drags of his hands has you close, teetering on the precipice of your orgasm; you’re squeezing him, close and he knows it. Shaky fingers curve around his wrist, sharp nails digging crescent shaped marks in the skin. He hisses against your mouth at the feeling, but doesn’t let up. Two more rhythmic pumps send you over - a coil snapping under pressure.

“Eren, please,”

“Please what?”

“Please—“ you quiver, unsteady, “put it in. Please.” He has half a mind to deny you, to make you beg until you can't anymore, but he's not that strong of a man.

You watch him with glassy eyes as he undoes his belt, then his jeans, peeling them off his legs and leaning off the bed to toss them to the side. He's wearing green boxers underneath, and your eyes trace the swell of him. You'd forgotten how big he was, and your eyes widen a fraction when he returns. It'd been a while since you'd last seen him shirtless, let alone naked. He's toned, fit. You can tell he frequents the gym, and that his hard work pays off immensely. He's hot, you think, the twinge of guilt you typically feel is lost in a cloud of lust. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reach to touch him, to feel the outline of his cock through his underwear. Suddenly your mouth gets dry.

You remember how it felt when you blew him for the first time, how you wondered if he'd ever fit in you; how it'd feel with him in you. A part of you is still curious, after all the this time. You'd never had anything like him before. Sure, you don't have much to go by, but if your boyfriend (ex, at this point) was average, then Eren definitely was not.

He leans backward on his hands as you tug him out of his underwear, tugging it to his knees. He’s heavier in your hand than you remember; precum smeared on the head of him, veins pulsing. He’s thick and long, that you remember.

His breath stutters when you glide him through your folds, sucking in a sharp breath when he bumps your clit. He lets you guide him, coating him with your juices. The two of you do that for a while, him fucking up into your hand and against your pussy, until you’re ready.

“Gonna put it in f’me,” he asks, though it’s more of a statement, “gonna let me fuck you?”

The head of his cock slips in, you both gasp. He pushes in more, and he’s big, every inch stretching you like never before. It stings, aches, but it feels so good. “Taking me so good,” he praises, sinking forward, burrowing deeper and deeper until your hips touch, and he’s all in. You feel him all the way in your belly, pulsing. “Fuck,” he groans, “you’re burning me, baby,”

Shifting himself onto his knees, he grabs your hips with firm hands. He can fuck you better like this, deeper like this. A roll of his hips makes you whine, the drag of his cock inward leaves you hungry. You’re full, even when he’d only been halfway in, he filled you perfectly, like you’re made for him; molded to him. “Oh—oh my god,” you say, breathless, “fuck,”

Eren pulls his hips back, leaving you empty. He goes until the tip is barely in, then he fills you again; hard enough to rock you. Each thrust is heavy and angled. Calculated; fucking deep into that spot in your belly. The one that has your toes curling, crying out for him; squeezing his cock so tight he’s afraid he’ll cum too early.

It soothes that ache, that need. The feeling that no one can hold a candle to. Eren fucks you with a purpose, like you’re his, and his only. The brother you claimed to hate, to have so much disdain and a mouthful of curse words for, breaking you down into pieces.

He’s gripping you hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises, keeping you right there where he wants you. You’ve ruined it for him, he knows. Every time he pushes back in you get tighter, and he has to almost force himself out. You’re captivating, intoxicating. Moaning his name and begging, pleading for him to keep going—to go deeper, that he’s so big and you’re so full and you love him so much. That Colt, as sweet as he is, doesn’t hold a candle to him.

It makes him laugh, genuine. It fuels what he already knows. What he’s sure of.

You’re close—your pussy is squeezing him tighter, spasming around him; you’ve gone from being coherent to babbling. He reaches down to rub your clit, get you closer. “Eren,” you’re pleading, “oh—“

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, “pretty little thing.”

His thumbs spread your folds, so he could have a good look at it as he slowly pulled his cock out, slick with your juices mixed with his own. You whine from

the loss of him, sobbing from being denied your release; your body shakes, coming down from being so high, so close, yearning for it. You beg him again, saying ‘please’ real nice, but there’s something he needs from you first.

He holds up your phone, still connected to the call with Colt. He hadn’t hung up the phone, to your surprise. The seconds are still ticking, minutes still counting. He’s silent, save for breathing.

“Break up with him,” Eren says, holding the phone near your face, “tell him the truth, baby; that you can’t be with him anymore ‘cause your brother said so.”

Through a cloud of desperation, you comply, “Colt,” you swallow, “I—I can’t be with you anymore,” you hiccup, “‘m not—“

“Tell him who fucks you better,”

“Eren—Eren fucks me better than you,” The last part comes out in an uneven tone; Eren slaps his cock on your soaked cunt, rubbing back and forth. “I’m in love with him,” you continue, shaking off the guilt, “I’m sorry.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Eren commends you, before oh-so slowly pushing himself back in, filling you right back up again. “Fuck,” he hisses, pushing through the first ring of muscle, slick walls swallowing him right up.

“Listen to her,” Eren pushes the FaceTime button and the call rings for two seconds, then picks up; other person’s camera blank. He flips the camera to show you, watching where he’s entering you, then angles it down to show Colt your pussy. “Messy, huh,” Eren says, shallowly thrusting his hips. In the background, you moan, wantonly. “You ever get her to sound like this? To cum like this?”

The camera focuses sharply on him, retracting just enough to ease right back in; setting a slow and steady pace. Every time he pulls out, you leave creamy rings around him, covering him all the way from the base to the head.

“And, I mean,” Eren puts the device in his right hand, and uses two fingers on his left to show Colt what a mess he’s made of you, “she’s fuckin’ gorgeous, isn’t she?” He snaps his hips up, “the best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had,” he grunts, “there’s no one like her. Don’t you agree?”

You’re gasping his name again, and he knows you’re close; each thrust nearly knocking the wind from you. Overstimulated and sensitive, you cum with two more strokes, orgasm ripping over you like waves. Eren fucks you through it, saying something you’re unable to hear—his thrusts lose some of their force but not their rhythm, and you feel him pulsing inside you.

Your head gets fuzzy, thoughts unclear as he fucks you to his release, rutting into you until he’s spurting ropes of cum deep within you. Eren pants, tired, and leans back, pulling out of you. His cum starts to seep out, pooling onto the sheets beneath you. You barely register that he holds the phone up, showing your boyfriend his cum.

You’re too exhausted to care, immediately falling on the pillows behind you, drooping eyelids closing.

“Satisfied?”

The phone hangs up.

On the other side of the screen, Colt’s sitting on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Phone discarded on the floor, he looks down at himself: left hand and stomach covered in his own cum, and he feels gross.

He just watched his ex-girlfriend fuck her brother, and he liked every second of it.

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didisficrecs · 5 months

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something about eren making you feel how hard he gets for you drives me so insane. like him taking your hand and making you rub his cock through his pants and laughing when he sees how shocked you get from how much you always turn him on. the way he groans and grunts real deep in his chest and makes you squeeze him a little harder. “im so fucking hard for you” and all that.

#eren…

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didisficrecs · 5 months

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No cuz i read this once a month just to feel something

you say the word, im on the way | e. yeager

♤ tags ;; fem!reader, cheating (on reader but not by eren), exes to lover, past toxic relationships, arguing and insults, very emotionally charged sex, co-dependency (in a way), childhood friends to lovers, streamer!eren (BARELY mentioned), make-up sex, oral (f!recieving),, unprotected sex, so much dirty talk, praise kink, petnames angel, baby, pretty girl, eren kinda.. talks to ur pussy djhsdj, 18+

♤ wc ;; 10.2k (utter agony)

♤ a/n ;; i really like. this isn't the best. but that's fine i had a lot of fun alr. very self indulgent. title from teenage fever by drake.

♤ synposis ;; after your boyfriend cheats on you, your ex, eren, shows up for you against all odds. you give into him against your best interest.

You wait for him on the side of the road.

The rain is coming down in heavy sheets. You’re soaked to the bone having left in a hurry with only a single suitcase of your things. Your phones nearly dead, less than 20 percent with an ever-depleting battery. The closest place to charge your phone is too long to walk in this weather. And it’s so late the buses have stopped running.

Even if you could leave, it’s dark and dangerous. Your heart is in your throat, and the only streetlight is so far it hardly makes you feel any safer. You don’t know a single person in your ex-boyfriend's hometown other than his parents, but you aren’t sure you can face them right now if you wanted to.

It’s not like you wanted to call Eren. Or for him to see you as sorry as you are. Dehydrated, exhausted, emotionally battered - you don’t even like seeing Eren when you’re at your best. You’re sure as soon as you get into his car, he’ll start arguing with you. You’ve spent the last 15 minutes mentally readying yourself for his harsh comments whatever they may be.

You don’t have the luxury of being picky. He’s safer than venturing by yourself or taking an Uber. And he owes you one, anyway. Nows a good of a time as any to take him up on that.

Relief fills your whole body when you see a car pull up onto the side of the road. It’s an all-black sports car. Typically Eren, it sticks out sorely from all the other cars that have passed by. Wiping your eyes, you clear your vision to see Eren inside. He’s wearing a black cap and mask.

Your feet sink in the mud as you walk up to the car, but he beats you to the punch. Approaching you in the dead of night with a sort of anger you can feel before you even look at his face. He has a jacket with him made of that thin plastic material.

Before you open your mouth, he’s pulling the poncho over your head. He puts your arms through before he drags you by the wrist to his car. Hurriedly, you grab your suitcase and track it through the mud while you follow. Your voice is too hoarse to protest him, but you shout over the rain.

“Fuck Eren,” You half yell, wriggling your wrist free from his grip “Let me go,”

When he does, you stumble forward. You don’t get a look at his face as he walks over to the driver's side. In your exhaustion, you don’t think twice about it or assume he was doing it on purpose. You resign yourself. Hearing the back trunk of his car open, you try and read his face through the tinted windows. But even with the lights on, you can’t.

Sighing, you truck it towards the back. Your feet sink into the soft earth under you, huffing as you pick it up and shove it into the trunk. After you close it, you hurry back to the passenger seat, finally opening the door to see Eren.

He doesn’t even look at you when you do, eyes focused on the road. You stare at the interior of his car, grimacing at the thought of having to pay him back for getting it covered in mud. Left without a choice, you get in.

The plastic on his seat tells you he might’ve thought ahead. You aren’t sure if you should be comforted by that or not.

The door closes with a soft thud as you get to sit. The sound of the rain is muted almost instantly and leaves you with nothing but the radio, virtually silent, and Eren with a hand over the wheel. You put your seatbelt on and then settle more into your seat. Turning your body to face the window. The tension in the air is so thick you can feel yourself choke around it, breathing through your nose.

Eren’s car smells like spearmint. You’re expecting to be berated at some point, for inconveniencing him or otherwise. After all, you called him through a sob and asked him for something you’re sure he’d rather not be doing.

Instead though, he puts the car in drive, steps on the gas, and does a turn until he’s back on the road home.

He doesn’t say a word or even looks at you. Maybe reminding him of the fact he owed you meant he was going to treat this interaction as entirely transactional, which is infinitely better for you. You let out a breath of relief, shivering. He turns on the heat without you asking.

You decide against speaking and give him a glance of acknowledgment. He doesn’t return the gesture.

You hear your phone buzz in the pocket of your pants, and fish it out. As you expected, it’s just your ex-boyfriend. A slew of missed messages and calls. Your eyes hurt getting adjusted to the bright lights as you send him a quick stop texting me tonight before clicking it off. You want to throw your phone in the river, and yourself. To float down somewhere far from here, and pretend nothing ever happened.

With the white noise of rain no longer drowning out your invasive and sad thoughts, you find yourself choking back more tears. The wound is still fresh, tender, and bleeding.

You’ve always had bad taste in guys.

But you thought this time would be different. He was different. Patient, and attentive and so thoughtful. It was always stable. You met his family, for fuck sake. His mom, dad, and sister - are all good people. A nice house with a garage, health insurance, and a college graduate. From a different place than you and your friends.

It was never all that exciting, but you thought it was better that way. To keep it simple. You put in the effort to make it work. Got comfortable with complacency, and waved off all of your friends when they insisted you should date someone better. Someone who suited you more.

Maybe someone like Eren. The thought makes your stomach sour.

But your ex, he wasn’t a bad guy. It wasn’t so easy. He was safe, and after your other experience with romantic relationships- safety wasn’t something you could dismiss with the idea of deserving more. More was abstract and intangible. Slippery.

You were content, so you stayed. Stability, you told yourself, I just want stability.

He was the last person you could imagine cheating on you. Unsurprisingly with a girl from his hometown who he’d told you about before and swore he got over. Feeling stupid, you let out an exasperated laugh. It’s your fault for trying so hard. For taking his inch and trying to turn it into a mile.

For believing it’d be enough to try. Maybe you know better than anyone, there are just some people you never get closure with. That distant look in his eyes concerned you. But a guy like him didn’t seem like he’d cheat.

You’ve never been so wrong.

Your stomach rumbles as you close your eyes and go over the fight. Subsequently, you forget Eren is even in the car with you. His presence fades into the background, face pained as you think of your exes apologies. He seemed sorry.

But you’re not someone who can forgive or forget easily - so you broke up. It just complicates everything. Already broken up, but you have to get your things. Find a place to stay for the month because it’s too expensive to go home early. Delete him off your socials, and maybe get in touch with your therapist again. The laundry list of post-break-up things to do is the most frustrating and most taxing.

The emotional healing and distrust go in some compartment until you can actually unpack them. After the initial devastations scabs over, you’re sure the sore feeling of sadness will come back with a vengeance.

That’s later though, and this is now.

Moping is a pipe-dream, seeing as you’re in a place where you have no one and nothing. The only person you know lives here is Eren, but you’re not really expecting any help from him after tonight. Maybe 3 days max, if he’s feeling generous enough.

At the very least, he must feel pretty sorry for you. No snippy remark or sarcastic gripe since you’ve gotten in. You can’t figure out what he’s thinking, just as before. It’s almost impossible to get a read on his face, and that thought leaves your mouth bitter.

As bitter as a favor. As bitter as a memory, you swipe your tongue on your teeth to rid yourself of the taste but it lingers.

You avert your eyes to your hands, peeling the skin off the edge of your fingernails. After a minute or two, you drive in front of a stoplight. The red reflects onto your sneakers and into Eren’s car.

“So,” He starts, voice filled with that familiar sharpness “How’s the boyfriend?”

Ah. There it is. He almost disarmed you with his silence. It’s a weird way to start scolding you, but you’ve never really understood why Eren does what he does. You sigh, clearing your throat. It’s thick with tears you’ve been shedding all evening.

“Ex-boyfriend.”

The light goes green, and he takes a right. He lives farther than you thought.

“How’d you fuck it up this time?”

Normally, his insistence on blaming you would frustrate you. It’s classically Eren. The projection was always the name of the game when you two were dating, especially at the sour end of your relationship.

Your desire and ability to fight are diminished though, turning into ember and ash. Giving him a shrug, you laugh a bit.

“Don’t know,” You say with a little more honesty than you were intending to “I just uh. I don’t know.”

He sighs this time, and his voice goes a touch soft. Sympathy feels worse than his anger. How pathetic you must look settles in.

“...What happened?”

It’s hard to get yourself to say it. Even though you know it. Getting the words out feels like climbing a mountain. You lean back into the headrest and turn away from him. Watching the passing cars intently, you smile.

“He cheated on me. From uh, a girl with his hometown,” You say, forthright. Hoping his pity might make him go easy on you “His first love. I came home and found them in our bed,”

You can feel him go stiff beside you.

You realize that anything he said to you right now probably wouldn’t hurt. The numb pain outweighs everything else that you think it’d slide off your back.

“And?”

“Uh... I don’t know. She left. And we got into a fight. Broke up with him and said I’d figured something out. Just didn’t really want to be in the same room with him,” You sigh, rubbing underneath your eyes “Packed my shit and sort of wandered around trying to figure out what to do. Called you when I saw how late it got,”

“Should’ve called me earlier,” He says simply. You chuckle.

“Like when?”

He huffs.

“Earlier. Would’ve picked you from his place and fought him or something.”

You smile somberly.

“I thought about it, buut I thought that'd upset him, so I didn’t,”

This he scoffs at, anger in his voice.

“That’s so like you,”

You wish you could disagree.

“Yeah,” You say back, unsure of what else to do “Yeah, guess it is.”

“What’re you gonna do now?”

You take a deep breath in.

“I won’t be in your hair long. I’ll try and score an Airbnb and wait it out. Leaving early is expensive as fuck.”

“You could stay with me if it’s just a couple of weeks,” He offers easily “Airbnbs are more expensive than a ticket, right?”

“Would your girlfriend be okay with that? Does she know you’re picking me up?”

He stares out into the road, jaw clenched.

“We broke up a while ago.”

“What happened there?”

“None of your business.”

You scoff.

“Of course, it isn’t,” You reply, a little angrier than you can control “Your personal life never is. My mistake. I’m a little rusty on how this works.”

His voice is so cold it’s chilling.

“Don’t,” He grits, hands hard on the steering wheel “Don’t fucking start,”

“I’m not trying to start anything. But it’s hypocritical for you to ask me about the shit that just happened and not even tell me why you and your girlfriend broke up.”

“I’m doing you a favor,” He justifies in a half-hearted way you’ve grown accustomed to “I deserve to know,”

You laugh, voice strangled.

“You deserve a fucking foot up your ass,” You spit, suddenly shaking “A simple ‘It’s complicated or ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now’ would’ve sufficed.”

“You’re still good at picking fights,” He goads, mouth twisted in a sneer “Did you nag him too? Maybe that’s why he went crawling back to his first love”

It’s too far. He’s too far, and he knows it. It’s all over his face, even masked in anger. You shoot him a deadly look, arms crossed over your chest. Suddenly, tears well up in your eyes and you can’t even look at him. It was a mistake, of course it was. You shouldn’t have bothered. Expecting anything from Eren was your own fault. Even basic decency.

Whatever camaraderie you used to have dissolved a long time ago. You bite your tongue

“You’re the fucking worst,” You sniffle, closing your eyes “Just drop me off at a hotel. I don’t want to be around you. It’s my fault for assuming you’d be civil.”

His hands are gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Tell me how you really feel,” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I think I’m being plenty civil right now,”

“Fuck. Do you get off on provoking me? On hurting my fucking feelings?” Your voice comes to a scratchy yell, unable to contain the anger in it “I just got fucking cheated on. In the middle of a city where I don’t know a single person other than you. You’re the last person I want to fucking see, Eren. The last,”

“So why’d you call me crying?”

“I didn’t have a choice! If I had a choice, I would’ve called anyone else. Would’ve called Jean or Connie or Armin—anyone. Anyone who isn’t fucking you.”

He clicks his teeth.

“Liar,” He says with the sort of confidence that floors you “You would’ve still called me even if everyone we know was in the city,”

It stings that he’s right. Your strength crumbles.

“So what if that’s true? What does it matter that I thought of you? That’s always been my issue, right? How’d you put it again?” You laugh out loud, a little out of it “I should stop expecting anything from you, right? It’s my fault. I should just stop having expectations for anyone. It must be me.”

He looks a little strained. Almost sorry. You scoff.

“Yeah,” You mumble, exhausted “You’re right. I shouldn’t expect anything from anyone. No matter how much I heal, or how hard I try to do the right thing”

“Y/N—”

“I worked on myself. Went to therapy. Took time off from dating altogether. Did everything right and still,” Your mouth fills with iron “Still. Still. I can’t find one person to treat me decently. Congrats, Yeager. It’s just like you hoped.”

The silence that follows says more than you ever could. You rub your temple. He’s probably right that you pushed it.

“Sorry for snapping on you,” You reply, voice tense “But, I still want to be dropped off at a hotel.”

“Why?”

You laugh.

“What do you think? Think we’re gonna be able to play house for two weeks? It hasn’t even been an hour and we’re fighting,”

He’s thinking. You can see it on his face, the tight strain of his jaw, and his brows. You haven’t seen him in person for more than a couple of years. But the familiarity always lingers. It doesn’t feel unusual, even the fighting.

He hasn’t changed. That much is obvious.

You shouldn’t have called, you think. It might’ve been better to get hypothermia and walk to the nearest motel.

“It’s not your fault he cheated on you,” He says. You think it’s his way of apologizing, a piss poor attempt at comforting you “Guys are just scumbags. Hung up on their first love or whatever. It’s not uncommon,”

You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. Frankly, you don’t have the energy for either.

“Does that include you?” You attempt to joke. To your surprise, he laughs. His voice is hoarse, and a touch resentful. Not at you, though. That feels important.

“Yeah.” He replies, not looking over at you “Me especially,”

It’s the first time he’s said as much about himself in your presence. Before it was that you didn’t understand him or that you didn’t get it. It’s too early to retract your previous statement. Hope sparks anyways. For what, you don’t want to know.

You nod sagely.

“You especially,” You affirm without any trouble “At least you know.”

This time, he smiles at you. It’s barely there. This whole conversation and the good nature of it is like walking on eggshells. You both know that.

Eren breaks the silence first as he pulls into another lane.

“Stay with me for tonight,” He offers “Just tonight,”

You don’t know why he insists. A loud yawn slips through your lips and your inclination to protest dwindles before being snubbed out completely. Shivering, you nod. Your head feels heavy.

“If you say so,”

You think you feel a pair of eyes on you before sleep washes over you like a tide. They might be Erens, but in your delirium, you can’t be sure. It doesn’t take much for you to succumb to sleep.

After your car ride ended, Eren woke you up gently to help you inside. This time, he took your luggage without your asking and helped you into his home.

He lives in one of those luxury apartments with a doorman. It’s fancier than you could ever imagine yourself living in. There’s a chandelier in the lobby, with a gym and a pool. Trekking mud into such a nice place makes you feel guilty. Eren seems unbothered.

You take the elevator up to the 7th floor, and then a right into the hallway. Eren fishes the keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door and stepping aside to let you in.

This is a bachelor pad. It’s the first thing that crosses your mind when you enter.

The decoration is minimalist and expensive. Boyish in its extravagance, littered with pricey things only Eren Yeager would buy. The couches are black, the carpet is white and the windows are big panes that overlook the entire city.

A flatscreen takes up most of the room. There’s a kitchen but it looks unused. It’s lived in, in the way that there are running shoes and clothes. Mess that happens when you spend your time somewhere, but it’s void of things a girlfriend would have in the house. You would know.

On one of the walls is a painting of a woman's naked body, tastefully done. From what you remember of Eren’s ex-girlfriend, she’d have his head over something like that.

Eren clears his throat behind you. When you turn to look at him, he looks a little sheepish.

“Broke up a while ago huh,”

He looks surprised at your deduction. You poke your head at the painting.

“She would’ve beat your ass for even thinking about putting that up,”

His expression is affirmative. After you’re done taking it in, all of your sensory issues hit you all at once. You pull the sleeves of your soaked hoodie over your hands but you’re freezing. His eyes widen.

“Ah, shit. Let me get you a towel. I’ll turn the heat up too,”

“Thanks, ‘ren.”

The nickname slips out of habit, but you don’t get a chance to retract it as Eren shuffles off to grab you a towel.

It doesn’t take him very long, a few in hand. You watch him idly as he turns on the heat before hurrying back over to you, shoving towels your way. You make him hold them for a minute, taking off your poncho and hanging it to him.

You dry yourself off to the best of your ability as Eren goes to put away the raincoat.

“Mind if I shower?”

He shakes his head.

“Would be concerned if you didn’t. I can get us food or something while you’re in there,”

“That’s… thoughtful of you. I’d appreciate it. I can Venmo—”

He puts a hand up, sitting on the back of his couch while you dry yourself off.

“Save your money if you’re worried about it.”

“I don’t want to owe you anything.”

Your frank way of speaking to him irritates him, same as always.

“You won’t owe me,” He assures first “I know we hate each other's guts now, but I’m not gonna let you go hungry.”

Warm. It makes you feel warm. You avert your eyes as you dry yourself off.

“Your mom would have your head,” You murmur. He laughs.

“My mom might forgive me. Zeke and my old man would hang me like a flag,”

“How’s Zeke been?”

His expression goes dry. They’re fighting. Eren rolls his eyes.

“Fine. On my ass, as usual. Business is good. I’ve got a niece now. Zeke’s wrapped around her finger,”

You’ve seen it floating on social media. You feel a little melancholy. It must show on your face.

“You should still visit home sometimes. Don’t be a stranger,”

You smile sadly.

“Easier said than done,”

“...Even if you don’t see me. I’m not the only one who misses you. Jean hasn’t stopped bitching about you going to see just Armin.”

You don’t know if he catches it. He misses you. You’re too afraid to confront it but unable to ignore it. You think over his words.

“It’s not like I don’t want to,” You start, voice slow “But after everything… after everything.”

There’s a minute where neither of you talks. Yet it’s not silent. The room is tense with everything you want to say or everything you did. Every regret, every memory starts to buzz all at once inside of your ribs like a spark of electricity through your hollow.

“If tonight didn’t happen, I wouldn’t have ever seen you again,”

He shakes his head with the same confidence as before.

“I would’ve found you.”

He says it like it doesn’t need any explanation. As casual as relaying the weather to you. He gives you a look, scratching his jaw.

“Go shower. How’s Thai? Same as before?”

It takes you a second to find your voice.

“Y-Yeah. Same as before. Where’s your shower?”

He directs his eyes towards the bathroom. You grab your small luggage on your way, offering him a quiet thanks. The sound of your heartbeat thrums in your ears, faster than the pounding rain.

Time passes like sand between your fingers.

After a shower, a change of clothes, and a full stomach - you and Eren are left totally in each other's company. Your expectation of it being awkward or even marginally uncomfortable becomes unthinkable after a while. Despite how late it is, you aren’t tired or all that sad.

Truthfully, you don’t know how to handle how familiar Eren feels. Like a durable winter coat with a heavy and comforting weight on your shoulders. It’s not burdensome to talk to him. He matches your pace and picks up easily on your quips. Natural lulls in conversation don’t feel uncomfortable and every misdirect or anecdote opens the door for more conversation.

Maybe you should’ve expected that. You and Eren grew up together. Along with Mikasa and Armin, and everyone from your hometown. It shouldn’t surprise you that Eren is comfortable.

When you look at him, you see home. If your gaze lingers. even a second too long or if you think for a minute more than necessary, you’re caught in the web of memories you’ve spent your whole life making.

You wonder about your ex-boyfriend. The irony of it isn’t lost on you. Maybe it hurts because you understand perfectly. No matter how much you love after, there’s nothing like first love. If he saw that in her eyes, it’s all that much harder to feel angry.

The only thing keeping you grounded is remembering that you’ve tried before and it failed miserably. It sinks you when you float too close to your heartwarming nostalgia.

The acrid truth is that this is all temporary and circumstantial.

Every now and again you remind yourself you’ve just been very vulnerable. And Eren’s grounding presence is helping you.

Again and again, you remind yourself that.

“High school was so ass,” Eren leans back into the couch, stretching his legs out “Mrs. Carnegie was such a bitch,”

You give him an unimpressed look. He looks like you remember when he’s like this. Having changed into his own clothes, hair tied up messily. He’s adjacent to you on the couch, far enough to stretch his limbs comfortably.

“She was nice to me. She was a bitch to you because you kept interrupting class,”

He rolls his eyes.

“And who was I doing that for?”

Your heart skips a beat. .

“Man, whatever.”

He laughs at you.

“Weak come-back,” He hums, laying his head on the back of his couch. He tilts his head in your direction “I was a good boyfriend in high school at least,” He adds, a little softer.

“You were. You were kinda like a puppy,”

He groans.

“Don’t say it like that, that’s humiliating.”

“What are you talking about? Puppies are cute.”

“Yeah, but hearing that now is embarrassing. I’m a man now,”

You raise a brow.

“Men can't be cute like puppies?”

“No,”

“But Armin is right there,”

“Doesn’t count. He literally looks like a fairy prince. Statistical anomaly,”

That makes you laugh hard enough your stomach hurts.

“Why’re you laughing? Am I wrong?”

“You just said it so seriously. He is an anomaly but I think Connie is cute in a puppy way too,”

“Connie’s bald ass? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. I like it, his hair looks good buzzed.”

“You’d find something nice to say about a pile of trash,”

“I like your long hair, Yeager.”

He gives you an unimpressed laugh as you break out into laughter.

“Low fucking blow,”

“Cry,”

This time he laughs instead, throwing a pillow at you. You catch it easily, holding it to your chest.

“I do like the hair though. It’s all you ever talked about,”

He gives you a little smile.

“You remembered. I thought it’d make me look cooler. Alternative or whatever. Don’t know if it’s working,”

“Your fans seem to love it,”

He looks sheepish at the mention of his work. You laugh.

“It gets a mixed response. A lot of people miss the short hair. I mostly keep it long because it’s easier to style,”

“Both are nice. I like your short hair more when I think about it,”

“Yeah?”

“I guess it’s cause it was short when we’re growing up. And uh,”

“When we were dating?”

You give him a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah. When we were dating, it was always short,”

He closes his eyes, suddenly deep in thought.

“You wanna know why I kept it short?”

You think you’d be better off not knowing.

“...Why?”

“When you’d play with my hair,” Subconsciously, he pushes his hair back a little “I could feel it better when my hair was shorter. Thought if I’d grew it, you wouldn’t touch it cause it’d get greasy quicker.”

All at once, you pull back. Whatevers on your face isn’t enough to make Eren waver when he looks at you. It’s easy to get lost in his eyes. Ocean blue, and full of something dark. Tempting like an abyss or a siren song. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“It’s something I’d do,”

The way Eren stares at you is so intense. You’re dancing around it now. What you both want to talk about it. A conversation that’s gone untouched for more than 4 years. Sober and aching. Different but the same.

Eren breaks the tension first. That’s twice.

“I’d cut my hair short if you asked me,”

You’re quiet.

“I’d do whatever you want,”

“Eren,”

“What?”

What do you say? Don’t? Please? What could you say that means more than his name in your mouth?

“You know what,” You say weakly “You know,”

A conversation you’ve had a hundred times before. It burns like bile rising in your esophagus. Crushed windpipes under the burden of love. Your hands grip the ends of the pillow tighter. He sits up straighter. You don’t want to talk about it.

“Do I?”

“Eren,” A warning.

“There’s not any point in talking around it, “ He shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie “Around this. Around us.”

“There is no us,” You correct sharply, shaking your head “Not anymore,”

His face doesn’t have anything you can read. You know yours must read of resentment. Eren is his usual blank.

“There could be,”

You shatter at the sentiment. The hopeful, easy way he says it. Like he doesn’t remember anything, and that you two are strangers. You know better that you aren’t. That no amount of healing can take it all back. Maybe you could forgive Eren, and somewhere far down the line - you could even be friends.

But us is impossible. You tried us. It blew up in your face.

“Fuck you for even saying that,” Your voice comes out garbled “Fuck you for even thinking it,”

“How is it fuck me? For wanting to fix our relationship, seriously?”

You hate him. With everything you have in you, with a burning fiery sort of anger. A resentment that’s spent years strangling you. Every time you’ve bitten your tongue, all the time you tried to fix it.

It’s all so messy and so unspeakbly touchy.

“The sooner you get it out of your head there’s a relationship to fix, the better off we’ll be,”

“Bullshit. Bullshit there’s nothing. I make you feel nothing?”

It’s not what you said. He knows that, but he means what he’s saying. And he knows your answer already because he’s like that. He already knows everything about you. Where to make you hurt, and how to make it sting. Eren is a scar, not a bruise. He stays, for as long as you’re alive. No matter how faint, or how healed - he stays a part of you.

He knows that as much as you do. That’s why it took you so long to leave. Of course you’d end up talking about it like this, but that’s not what you wanted. Or maybe it is. You don’t really know what you want from Eren. What you were hoping for when you stayed up late to talk to him and reminisce. You think just camaraderie.

“I hate you so fucking much,” You croak, wiping away angry tears “More than anyone in my life, I hate your fucking guts,”

“You don’t mean that,”

“I do,” Your reply comes in an angry hush “I can’t forget how we ended Eren. The months after I left were some of the worst of my life. Do you know how long it took me? To get better?”

His jaw clenches.

“I didn’t think you would leave,”

His confession stuns you into silence. His arrogance never fails to astound, Like this, it feels incredibly frustrating. Your stomach sours.

“...You thought I would stay? After everything?”

“You said you would,” He raises his voice this time. He sounds hurt. Angry. Sad. All things you didn’t know he could still feel “You—you fucking promised. It was supposed to be forever and you left first.”

“You can’t be serious,”

“You promised,”

“Yeah,” This time you sit up. Everything hits you at the same time “When I was 17 and in love. Before you treated me like shit,”

He winces. So he does know.

“You remember now, don’t you? You changed. You left for college, you stopped picking up my calls. You were such a fucking flirt that half of your campus thought you were single till I moved in. You remember that Eren?”

His silence makes you madder.

“You remember. right? How I’d desperately try and fix our relationship while you ran around doing whatever? You always looked so fucking indifferent. All we ever did was fight. Nothing I did worked,”

“Y/N—”

“I didn’t know anything other than you. If it was anyone else… But it was you,”

“I’m—”

“You used to tell me when we were kids that if any boy hurt my feelings, you’d kill him. You remember that?”

He closes his eyes.

“Don’t make it sound like I just up and left for nothing. We both know that’s bullshit,” You choke back a sob as you think about it. The gaping hole in your chest that Eren always left splits open again.

“I’ve always loved you. Always. From the minute I could walk and talk. I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you, Eren,” Even now, you don’t want him thinking that “I left because you didn’t love me. I left because I realized that”

The silence that follows your rant exhausts you so much you slump back into the couch. You learned your lessons the hard way. That love was meaningless to safety. That stability was a luxury few can afford. Nothing is guaranteed.

This second time around, you know that love can’t be one-sided. Maybe that’s what all of this has been trying to teach you.

You cry silently, taking in deep breaths. You have no idea what he’ll say, and you don’t know if you care.

“I’m sorry,”

“....What?”

“I’m sorry,” His voice breaks a little this time. You don’t remember the last time you saw him cry “I didn’t mean for things to end like that,”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it,”

You know it’s a mean thing to say. It’s not kind or forgiving. His sincerity doesn’t even feel real to you at the moment he says, but sorry doesn’t make you feel better. Sorry doesn't fix it.

“I know,”

“Then why say it?”

“I still love you,”

Drowning. You’re drowning in murky waters, hardly getting air.

“You don’t love me,”

“Don’t say that,” His voice sounds weak and desperate. You haven’t heard it like that in so long. Vulnerable “Even if you hate my fucking guts. I still love you, always did. Always.”

“Then why did you do that to me?”

“I was terrified,”

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Eren. Spoken to him, or even called him on the phone. Years. Checking on him through his social media and streams was all you ever got. Sometimes Armin would fill you in, or Mikasa.

But Eren, in your eyes, had remained how you left him. He got arrogant you think. He got his fix and grew up to be tall and handsome. Had aspirations and grew out of his shyness.

And instead of growing together, you grew apart. You started to accept the fact that the Eren you loved was no longer someone you could reach. The young, doe-eyed lovesick boyfriend. Eren was just a college boy now. Not your only exception, not the love of your life.

Accepting that was the hardest thing you’ve had to do in your life.

So why does he sound like someone you used to love? And why now, of all times?

“When you talk like that, it makes me think you’re different.”

“I am,” He stops for a minute, hands folded “I’m trying to be.”

“...Why were you scared?”

“It’s uhm, I don’t know how to say it,”

“Take your time,”

“Doing long distance made me realize how much I needed you,” His voice is hardly over a whisper. “It was ego. But I hated that. I had it in my head that you were off with other guys, and I—I don’t fucking know—I was stupid. I wanted to feel like you still wanted me,”

“So what? You made me chase you?”

“Yeah. Something like that. When you moved in, it just… I don’t know. I saw how everyone looked at you. I didn’t think it would make me so angry to see you like that,”

“Sounds like…”

“Self-sabotage,” Eren interjects “That’s what my therapist said, at least.”

“You’re in therapy?”

“Only a few months, but yeah. It helps.”

“I don’t understand you at all,” You shake your head “ Not at all,”

“You bring out the best and worst in me.” He replies with a humorless laugh on his lips “Still. Around anyone else, it doesn’t matter. What they do or don’t do,”

“And me?”

“You,” He rubs a hand over his face, voice shaking. He tries to be lighthearted but the sentiment is sincere “I make myself sick thinking about you,”

It feels hot under your clothes.

“We shouldn’t be… I shouldn't—”

“I know. You drive me so fucking crazy and I get so angry. I know, but how the fuck could it ever be anyone but you?”

Your breath hitches.

“What’re you saying?”

“That I want you. I want you so fucking bad. I don’t want to ever be away from you ever again. I can’t help but want that,”

You can feel him coming into your space. How he scoots closer to you, just enough that he’s moving across the couch. He’s so much bigger than you remember. Stronger. It's all moving so fast. When he puts his hand on your knee, you tense but don’t move. The dizzying smell of his cologne catches on your tongue and tickles your throat.

His eyes dart down to your lips. His hands running up your outer thighs. You’re defenseless. Weak, you pull back a little. He doesn’t move.

“I can’t just forgive you overnight—”

“I know,” He leans in a little more. Close enough that his breath touches your skin “I’ll keep trying. I want to try again. I’ll earn it this time. I’ll chase you, and you can ignore me all you want,”

He’s being cheeky as much as he’s being serious. Classically Eren. You’re so screwed.

You feel your throat close up as he inches forward.

“You’re so bad for me.” You whisper, the words too heavy.

“Two sides of the same coin,” He says back, then he smiles “We’re made for each other. You think that too. I know you do,”

“I wanted stability,”

“I’ll try to give you it. If that’s what you want.”

“And if you’re just a rebound?”

“As long as I’m yours,”

“You’re such a scumbag.”

“I know,”

Everything falls from under you the minute you kiss him.

A little noise of surprise leaves his lips that instantly morphs into desire. It’s an uncouth display of emotions, so animal that you can hardly call it love. It’s something in between love and hatred, the opposite of indifference. All the intensity of life, of every terrible emotion you’ve ever had. You kiss Eren Yeager first because you miss him, despite yourself. Everything after that is just another blurry detail.

He moans into your mouth. Where your hand has landed on his chest, he grabs your wrist and then drags you into his lap without ever breaking apart. You end up over him, with his lap under yours.

When he has you where he wants you, he hugs you close to his body. You can feel the hardlines of muscle through his shirt, his arms secure around your back. Your tits are pressed against his chest, bra forgotten. The slightest brushes are what make you feel the most.

Eren’s shaky breaths and the overwhelming way his lips move against yours. Indecision in how to treat you. Soft kisses that are followed by rough ones. The intensity of your own desire consumes your ability to act cordial, as you squeeze against Eren tight.

You can feel the rapid beat of Eren’s heart in his chest, grinding your hips into his.

In between kisses, he makes sure to nip at your jaw. You can feel his teeth pierce your pulse point, his tongue lapping over the leftover wound that leaves you shaking.

He litters bites like that on every inch of your skin, your neck left with an ache. There’s something ironic in Eren licking your wounds over, but the words escape you before you can utter them.

Even in just being claimed, the feeling is intense. It makes you visceral. Not to be worked up from touch or words, but something else entirely. Something cosmic in it’s very existence.

Eren finally pulls away from you, just barely to glance at your swollen lips. He meets your eyes as his teeth sink into the lower one to make you whine. He talks to you while your eyes are locked.

“Fuck,” His voice is thick with lust. Heat splits you right in half “Fuck, fuck, baby. Been so long,”

“Y-Your hands,”

“Can’t take em off you,” They’re smooth as they feel you up. Shamelessly squeezing the fat of your hips in between in his fingers, grabbing your ass hard. A guilt creeps up for comparing him to your ex-boyfriend.

But all you can think about is how Eren is the opposite of stability. Images pop up of when you used to have sex, so many years before. He was meeker before, less assured. You thought his confidence would make you sick, but it doesn’t.

Rather, the look on his face while he gropes you makes you wet. Chewing his lower lip, feeling your body like he’s dying to see it under his clothes. Impatiently and unabashedly wanting you in a way that is distinctly Eren.

There’s truth in the sentiment that no one could ever fuck you like Eren could. It’s one you’ve kept to yourself for so long that you almost forgot it. Eren knew your body and shaped it to his hands years ago. You like being touched because of how he touched you, a memory you carried like a torch.

It was Eren who wanted you first, who fucked you first, who made you cum first when you were both so awkward and clumsy.

“Look at you,” He groans. His hands inch under your shirt, skin on skin. Pinching your nipples gently, till they’re hard against your shirt “Look how sexy you are,”

He knows what you like, what you like being told.

“My pretty fucking girl,”

Fuck. Of course, he remembers that.

“Oh, you—”

“So pretty,” He parrots. Even with electricity buzzing in his movements, he’s patient. Undresses you gently. When your skins bare, your shirt tossed to the other side of the room, he kisses the underneath of your tits. Each one, he kneads them. Appreciates them, worships them. All of that undivided attention that he always used to give you when you were dating.

When you were in love.

“You still like when I tease ‘em too,”

His tongue runs over your hardened nipple, sucking it into his mouth, His free hand occupies the other, taking time to give them both equal attention. Your body starts to ignite, little sparks of electricity flitting up your spine.

Letting your fingers card through his hair, you glance down. He looks up at you with his mouth full, eyes lidded. His lashes are long against his olive skin, sun freckles over the bridge of his nose. Your hands reach to touch the moles along his cheeks, all in places you remember.

You don’t resist the urge for intimacy. Not things you did with your ex, but with Eren. You press a kiss to his hairline and his hands get a little tighter. Your want expands, fills like a balloon.

Feeling his cock nudge against your shorts is surprising. A blush crawls over his face, grinding his hips up into you. It’s muscle memory to do it back - rocking yourself until he’s nestled between you. Dry-humping like this makes you feel like a teenager again, doing this in Eren’s dingy basement when you weren’t ready to lose your virginity.

Except Eren knows what he’s doing. He shifts his weight, sitting up enough to push up against your clit. His mouth deatches, a string of saliva in his place. The cool air against the swell of your tits make, adds to the sensation.

He grabs your ass again, this time just to push you up. To set a pace as you grind against each other.

“Wanna know something?”

You choke back a whimper.

“Mm,”

“I used to jack thinking about you,” His voice is slick when he speaks, a low whisper “Remember? You used to be too sensitive so you’d rub against the edge of your bed. Thought about it all the time after you told me,”

Your jaw drops open.

“You—”

“You’re a big girl now, aren’t you? Not too sensitive for this, but—,” He does it with more purpose, a long slow drag so you can feel his shaft against your clothed cunt “you still like it slow,”

“Eren, holy—”

“Everything you like,” He hums, this time matching how he moves you with his own body “Still remember every detail,”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah baby,” He dips his head to kiss against the column of your throat again, this time sucking deep dark hickies. You can feel his lips when you moan “Everything. Kept me company,”

You’re almost too afraid to ask what he means.

“Eren,” You half beg, fingers twitching with want “Don’t tease me,”

“What do you need?”

“Uhm,” Embarrassed. For some reason, Eren asking you is making you embarrassed. You’ve never been before “This is so humiliating,”

“You were always shy about asking for it,”

“So why’re you making me, asshole?”

“I like watching you squirm,”

“Shut up, you’re awful,”

“Put something in my mouth, then?”

Your eyes go wide, and he smiles. His breath brushes against the shell of your ear.

“You wanna sit on my face, right? Shut me up,”

It was a stupid arguement you had. At the latter half of your relationship, sometimes the only way you two resolved things was sex. Eren referencing it makes you mad as much as it makes you wet.

When you were both a little inebriated, he used to beg you for it.The memories of that make you nod. Your voice is coarse with lust.

“Wanna sit on your face,”

“Take your shorts off,”

Taking off your clothes is haphazardly done. You and Eren part ways. He takes off his shirt and hoodie to reveal a body cut from pure marble. He was always athletic, but clearly his gym rat posting on his IG story were genuine and not for show. He sends you a little smirk when he catches you staring, flexing his muscles a little.

“Do I look good?”

You nod, awestruck as you wriggle out of your shorts leaving you in just your socks. Eren does the rest slowly, stood up and taking off his sweatpants His thighs are muscular, strong with a little dark hair. It’s on his stomach too, just barely there.

The fabric of his boxers strain against his cock. It’s big, bulges against the black material that you can see the skin. It’s intimidating to look at.

Your eyes follow him to the couch. You watch him get comfortable, moving pillows around to make sure there’s enough space. He flashes you a smile when he’s laid down, untying his hair as a last touch.

“Come here, angel,” He signals, waving you over “Come sit,”

The air brushes past you as you approach him. He reaches a hand out to lace with your hands.

“Face that way. So you can hold onto my hair, yeah?”

“Yeah,”

It takes you a minute. It’s easier to climb over his chest, inching towards his face. When you’re spread right over his neck, he gives you a cheeky grin. His hands reach over your thigh, pulling you apart. His eyes are zeroed in on your clit, finger brushing back the hair on you. The affectionate way he does both makes you want to hide away.

Eren is holding you in place so you can’t move.

“Look at that,” He whispers, breath fanning your cunt “Look at how wet you got for me,”

Instead of putting his tongue where you need it, he cranes his neck to one side and presses kisses into your inner thigh. Licking at the skin, he holds your eyes.

“Tell me something,”He goes an inch highe and leaves a hickey before repeating it a little bit aove “Did he ever get you this wet? You can be honest,”

Your clit throbs between your legs. Eren grins, as you squirm. You look down at him, shaking your head.

“Not like you. I mean, he wasn’t bad but he wasn’t—”

“But he wasn’t me, was he?” He goes on, his lips pressing right against your achy clit, arousal on his lips that he licks with ease “Could never be me, could he?”

“Eren,” You whine. His smile gets bigger, tongue licking one long stripe against your folds.

“Say it baby. That I’m the best you’ve ever had?”

Your reply is a meek yeah. It’s hard to do anything with confidence or self-assurance when your entire body is begging to be pleasured. Eren gives you a few more kisses on your clit, like he’s making out with it. It’s sweet and lazy, making your hips buck for more.

“I’m the same,” He coos, sticking his tongue out as he forces your weight down so you’re not longer hovering but sitting on his face “There’s nothing like you,”

He doesn’t hesitate to dive in right after that. Burying himself deep, your hands immediately fix at the base of his hair. He’s not shy about it, his tongue laid flat, creating just enough suction around to feel. It’s perfectly pracited, familiar.

Eren eats you out from memory. That much is obvious to you as soon as you feel him, the wet heat of his mouth and his tongue. It’s a measured build of pleasure, soothing a long-time ache that slowly escalates to something more.

A mewl escapes your throat. He moans against your pussy, nose bumping against you. Tugging at the roots of his hair, you wiggle your hips to get him to give you more.

You feel the coil in your tummy when Eren goes a little deeper, sucks a little harder, moves a little faster. Encouraging you to use him to the best of your ability as he pushes your hips, nails dug in the skin to keep you steady Looking down makes you see him completely blissed out, like he’s in a comfortable dream.

You don’t really remember the last time someone went down on you like this without asking. Like he’s enjoying it all on his own, like he wants you. There’s vigor to how he takes you into his mouth, tastes you greedily, with appreciative grunts and groans.

The word perfect falls flat to how Eren licks your pussy. Perfect is too prim, too neat. Whatever Eren makes you feel between your legs, is far from perfect. Eren is something more. More intangible, hard to touch. He eats your pussy perfectly, but messily. Desperately, lovingly. Every inch of you is wanted, tongue nestled against your folds and on your hard clit like he wants to stay. He looks at you intoxicated and it shows in how much joy he takes in tasting you. Hitched to your very existence, like a planet revolving around the sun.

He does it like it’s a privilege, a divine gift. Sucks like it’s sweet, ripe fruit in scorching summers. Water in an oasis, deserving of only the highest praise. Not worth wasting even for pride. Shameless.

You can feel yourself tipping closer and closer to the familiar edge. Each second pushes you to it, closer and closer and closer before you feel the feeling again. Deep in your body, undoing you completely.

“Eren, oh—”

You cum hard. It’s the first one, the most intense. Eren is unyielding as you hit your high and start to fall back down, catching on each layer of the ozone. You moan his name over and over, Eren, Eren, Eren. It’s all you can think to say. The only person you’d trust to catch you from this high, you fall foward. Hand gripping on the couch, you try to wiggle away but he won’t let you until he’s had his fix.

When he pulls away, he takes in a deep breath.

You lean back, catching sight of his face. It’s dripping down his chin. He reaches his hands to wipe it with his fingers, then sticks his hands up to you.

“Open your mouth up,” He says, pushing his fingers against your tongue “Or come down here and clean me up, maybe?”

You widen your eyes. Curiosity getting the better of you, you wiggle down until you’re face level with him. He gives you a glance, encouraging you. Unsure, you push your tongue out against his neck, tracing down to his adams apple. He groans, voice vibrating.

“Fuck yeah,” His hands comes around the back fo your neck “Just like that baby. That’s perfect,”

Your memory reminds you. You repeat your actions, tongue dragging over his nec and chin, presses kisses and bites all along his jaw and neck. Eren moans above you appreciatively. The sound is pleasing. Hearing it over and over eggs you on to “clean” him up well until you reach his lips.

The way he kisses you is sweet and gentle. He kisses your lips before peppering them on your face.

“Fuck, look at what you’re doing to me.”

“Making you sappy?”

“Already was. I’m so hard for you right now, it’s fucking stupid,”

You let out a whine.

“Mm,”

“Condoms upstairs,”

“Don’t need ‘em. ‘s fine. Just give it to me how it is,”

He shivers against your body.

“I wanna cum just thinking about it,”

“Don’t think about it and come fuck me,”

He laughs, handing coming down on your ass.

“Get up,”

You stand up and Eren follows suit. He gives you a quick peck before whispering in your ear.

“Bend over the edge of the couch for me,”

Shivering, you nod your head and walk beind the couch. You shoot Eren a look over your shoulder, seeing him ease his cock out of his boxers to give it a quick stroke. It’s just high enough that you struggle to get over it all the way. His eyes are piercing, watching you as you bend over like he asks. You push your ass towards him.

“Like this?”

“That’s perfect, angel. Stay like that,”

You can hear him coming towards you. The weight of his body, bare chest against your spine is almost startling. He’s not crushing you, but you’re still completely pinned under underneath him. You wriggle your hips back, struggling to move.

His hand creeps lower and lower, finger slipping through your folds. He feels you up like that for a while, whistling.

“You’re so wet,” He coos. His voice is smooth in your ear. You moan. He rests his chin just over your shoulder as you turn your head to kiss him. Slowly, he slips his middle finger inside. You’re surprised how little resistance there is really. The pad of his finger reaches far, rubs against your g-spot without second guessing it.

Your squealing makes him do it again. It’s a careful move. Your body responds to him eagerly as he slips another one, steady. Until he’s knuckle deep, stretching out unhurriedly. When it’s no longer a tight fit, he pulls away from you.

Over you, he repositions. You can hear him spit in his hand behind you, the way his palms move against his cock. It’s all completely quiet besides that, lewd little noises that clue you into what he’s doing. Not seeing him makes the anticipation greater, leaves you vulnerable to whatever he wants to do.

“Missed this pretty pussy so much,” He hisses, the head of his cock pushing past your folds until he’s snug against your hole. The muscle clenches “So fucking warm,”

“Eren,”

He pushes forward, a calculated push of hips. You both moan when he enters you. Just the tip, just the familiar curve of his cock. Your inside ache, deep inside. A place only Eren could reach, you think. He groans nto your ear. Your feet are barely touching the floor in this position, Hardly reaching the ground, toes holding you up. The back of the couch digs into your stomach. It’s puts a pressure on your lower belly, that Eren must feel.

All your muscles are tense. Tight. The tip of his cock rubs against your walls. He’s so hard. Intrusive. You clench around him again. Jaw agape, you moan as he pushes even further.

“See that?” He whispers, against the shell of your ear. His hands grab yours, putting them behind your back till your defenseless “She remember me,”

The moan you let out is entirely involuntary once it hits you he means your pussy. Your walls spasm around him. He chuckles at that.

“That’s right. She loves me even if you don’t, doesn’t she?” Pulling his hips back until your empty, he fills you again. Harder this time. You choke on air “We made love tonight, didn’t we?”

“Eren, shit”

“I like when you say my name baby,” He says, another thrust “Like when your pretty pussy welcomes me home. It’s mine, isn’t it? Always has been. Bet he wasn’t making you feel like this, was he?”

All at once, you feel Eren for what he’s worth. You feel his cock, the curve and the shape the weight as it drags inside of you. You feel the weight of his body, all the stretch in your thighs as he casts over you like a shadow. The gravelly way that he speaks reverberating in your bones. He’s fucking you like he’s all the way in the bottom of your stomach.

Like a puzzle piece, Eren completes you on a level no one else in the world could. The way he talks to you reflects his, confidence not unearned. He’s cocky and awful, but his dick is doing this to you. Making your mouth fall open until your drooling underneath him. He answers every craving you ever had, that bone-deep sense of dissatisfaction that you’ve spent an entire year burying.

Eren fucks you like he’s in love with you, and only you. His cock kisses your cervix, and it feels like the same kind done at weddings. A vow to you, a promise. It feels so fucking good when Eren fucks you. Nothing in the world could ever quite comparing to that satisfaction. Deep in your body, primal and hungry.

“You were made for me,” He pants in your ear “Made just for me. No matter how far you go, I’ll find you. Remind you that. You get it now?”

You whimper out loud. Yes comes out naturally. Eren kisses your shoulder blade before sinking his teeth into it.

“Knew you would,

Eren fucks you the only way he’s ever known to. Deep and paced. You can’t say how he does it with anyone else, but with you it’s always been the same. Like he’s carving you out with his cock, the way you’ve always needed. You know you’re starting to be close again with each thrust. It’s a memory that your body welcomes.

Eren knows what you need to cum, but he waits. Like always, he keeps at it until your walls are tremor. Until you’re just getting there, and you need the extra push to get you to your end. He keeps you at the end as he fucks you, whispers filthy things in your ear until you reach the point of desperation that you’re begging.

“Please, Eren,” At your limit, pleaing “Please make me cum,”

“There’s the magic word,”

He snakes a hand around, reaching your clit and giving it a gentle rub. Everything happens at once. It’s perfect motion. Equilibrium. You can feel your knees start to give in as he gives it to you, the tension gently easing out. A carbonated soda, cracked open slowly to make way for the big finish. The release. Eren speaks to you again.

“Cum for me angel. Give it to me,”

Like a seismic wave, you cum hard on Eren’s cock just like he asked. He’s not far behind you, thrusting through the waves of pleasures. Your brain melts out of your ears completely, babbling to him to give you his cum too.

And he does in record time, shallowly rutting into you until you’re full of him, shooting deep. You feel your insides painted white, content at the feeling.

When he pulls out of you, you feel it drip onto his hardwood floors. You’re unsure of what comes next, but he pulls you right into your arms. Into his chest, even with wobbly legs.

“I’m not gonna let you go again,” He assures, more to himself than to you “You’re mine. Forever and always,”

Against your better judgement, you give in. Just for now. Just for the time being.

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didisficrecs · 7 months

Text

thinking about eren yeager in grey jeans and a tshirt and you on his thigh with your clit dragging over the material, whining and whimpering in his ear as you make a complete mess. and how he wouldn’t bother to pay too much attention to you, until you start whining in his ear. he smiles - the kind with his fangs out and kisses you while you do it. breathes in all your little sounds and whimpers and says.

“what is it baby? miss me?” and when you nod your head yes, he kisses you a again. moves your hand to be on his cock so you can feel how hard he is for you. starts kissing your neck, down to your chest. “yeah, i know sweetheart. miss you too.”

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didisficrecs · 7 months

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oliver talking his partner through it and calling him d**** god your brain is so huge my stomach hurts thinking about this. he’ll never tell you he loves you to your face and tries to fuck you more like he hates you because he doesn’t want to get too attached but as you’re getting close he’s all in your face and your neck, teasing you, biting your ear and softly begging you to tell him how you feel, how it’ll be better for him if you tell d**** just how close you are and how much you need him. takes you over the crest so sweetly, and continues rolling into you, chasing his own. his kisses are nonstop and so overwhelming, and he knows they are but he just really needs to connect with you like this. never the first to say “i love you” but unfortunately (in his opinion) he expresses it in so many other ways. sorry.

but i crumble completely when you cry | a. oliver

✮ tags ; DADDY KINK, afab + fem!reader, situationship!oliver, hooking up, unresolved romantic tension, p in v, praise, soft sex, it gets emotionally strange, riding, creampies, unprotected sex, under-negotiated kink in a sense though oliver is very careful

✮ wc ; 2.2k (i dont want to talk about it)

✮ a/n ; anon im going to haunt your dreams for putting this absurd image into my head when i dont even go here im crying screaming throwing up ive been thinking about it for hours. hours of my life wasted on this guys dick. upsetting!!!!!

also i do not write this often and do not plan too again any time soon so if ur seeing this and thinking about following me for content like it i would not recommend!!!

✮ synopsis ; you don't trust oliver with your heart or your feelings. nor do you expect anything from him.

but it's hard not to lean into him when he decides to cradle you so gently.

Your relationship with Oliver is both very ambiguous and very clear.

There's a line drawn, and you both steer clear of crossing it in your interactions. Oliver is fun. He's attractive and charming, a massive flirt but just genuine enough to be interesting.

It helps that he's hot. Physically, he's got an unreal build.

He's an athlete, so he's big. Wide chest and strong arms, thick thighs and the height to top it off. He's 6'3, and he's sexy (and his dick is huge) - and you sleep with him because of that. You don't date him explicitly because he's a womanizer. If you'd met when you were a little younger, a little more naive - you might've tried to dog-train him into being your boyfriend.

Because on top of the immaculate dick, he's fun to be around. He's funny, he drinks well, he's not a scumbag in the ways that turn you off.

You're old enough to know better. You have a career. You're too busy, and too jaded about love to try and fix whatever weird shit he has going on. So even if the two of you harbor some sort of emotional or romantic feelings for each other, you're smart enough to not get invested in those feelings and smart enough to have no expectations.

Oliver is your fun. He's your sneaky link, your weekend off. You come to him to blow off steam. You have rough, fast sex and it's good. Sometimes you chill afterwards, and you'll indulge each other in some physical affection but other times you take your shower and leave. It's a good time, and you know well enough not to ever ask him for any of your emotional needs. You have your therapist and girl friends for that.

Normally, when you're having a rough week - it's prime time to go to him. He'll fuck you a little harder than usual, and sometimes he's nice enough to kiss it better. But it's still, very distinctly, never crossing that boundary.

But some weeks, like this week - shit is bad. Not just stressful bad, but everything in the fucking world that could go wrong, is going wrong bad. It's not the kind of thing you can get over by compartmentalizing and even when you try to do your usual thing it doesn't really work.

You're trying right now - to get over the fucked up week you had. And you're turned on, but somehow - it's still not enough to get you completely out of it.

Oliver pauses mid stroke, in missionary - hetero-chromatic eyes staring you down as your thoughts are somewhere else completely. You don't notice the first time he stops, or the first time he calls you.

And he only gets your attention by cupping your face and making you look at him. You startle as you cast your glance his way.

"What's with you?" He asks, though he's not pissed or anything "Not feelin' it? Want me to stop?"

"No, you don't have too."

"Not what I asked," He chastises, letting go of your face "Not having your full attention is making me go soft,"

This makes you laugh, and Oliver cracks a smile seeing the tension melt off your face if only slightly.

"I'm cool with stopping." He assures. You let your hand reach up to his shoulder.

"It's not like I want to stop, necessarily? Like I wanna do something to get my mind off it and sex feels like the best option, but you know how it goes sometimes," You say, trying your best to avoid the emotional baggage of your words "We can stop though. I'll pay you for your wasted time," You tack the joke on at the end to ease the tension.

You're expecting him to pull out and stop, or maybe challenge himself into fucking you so good that you forget. Something more quintessentially Oliver than what he does do.

He gives you a blank look first, than a laugh that is a touch too sincere for you to be comfortable "That bad of a week?"

You're suddenly in dangerous territory. Somehow, this strange intimacy makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You swallow thickly, the emotions coming over you so quick you end up looking away.

"Yeah. You know. It's fine, but you know."

"Mm," He says. He leans into your space. His breath is warm and his stubble tickles your skin as he whispers in your ear. You feel your breath hitch. And the air feels heavy "Wanna try somethin' else?"

"Like what?"

"A surprise," He says first, and find your stomach tightening. A hollowness in your nerves "Gotta trust me."

"You're scaring me." You joke.

"I'm a sex expert, you know?" Oliver says, humming against your skin "If I can't remedy your little problem with my dick, it's bad for my street cred. My yelp reviews will tank."

"You're such a dumbass."

"Do you trust me?"

You don't know how to answer. Yes, for the most part. Not with everything, but with your pleasure at least. Whatever this is, it doesn't feel the same. But you say yes, anyways. Oliver kisses your jaw in reply, then he pulls out.

He flips position easily. He ends up on his back, then he grabs you to rest on top of him. You're not sure what you're expecting. He holds you by your hips as your sex hovers over his cock. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin as he sinks you down slowly onto him.

You only stare at him, mouth opening as you feel him stretch you open for a second time.

You're more aware of it this way. He's so thick, and so intrusive - and normally, you're feeling that in hard strokes. Fast and rough, like something knocking into your cervix. But like this, he's hitting a deep angle. You can feel every curve, every inch, as you come down slowly.

He keeps you there. For longer than you'd expect. Just keeps you, settles you, holds you gently. You stare at him as he grabs your hand, locking your fingers. Your first instinct is to panic, or crack a joke - but there's an intense look in his eye that shuts you up.

Uncharacteristically gentle, you find yourself frightened. Oliver's hands reach for you again. They hold your waist and slide up the planes of your body. He holds your tits in his palms and squeezes.

He does this a lot, but there's not usually this much touching. This much foreplay. It's grabby, a deeper pressure. He doesn't...feel you, in the way he is now. You stare at him, and he looks back at you so fondly you feel a strange urge to pretend it never happened.

"Play with your clit," He says, though there's no urgency in his voice.

Deep and smooth, the timbre in it has you shaking. You listen, on auto-pilot as you play with yourself clumsily and build a slow pressure. He just watches.

"C'mere, baby. And don't stop touching yourself."

Another pause. It's not the first time he's called you that. He likes to call you all sorts of things when you're fucking, and baby is one of the few. But not like that. Not like this. He gives you a lazy, self satisfied smile and encourages you by placing a hand on where he can reach on your low back.

You lean down, and Oliver tucks you into his chest. He's warm, and strong - and smells so good, like musk and cologne. Your free hand is on his chest, as he grips your hips and fucks up into you.

"That's it," His voice is pleasant to your ears. It feels funny to you "Just gotta listen to me."

He starts fucking you slowly. It's a familiar feeling, a pleasant stretch that dulls into a euphoric fullness. But it's never been this slow before. Each thrust is slow, and punctual, and so deep you feel yourself gasping. It's not enough to push you over the edge, but it's enough to make your mind feel a little numb.

You think he's going to keep at you like this, maybe edge you to take you out of it. But he doesn't. He keeps his pace.

"Had a hard time this week, didn't you, tough girl?" He mumbles, so low it doesn't feel real. You feel your heart start to race. You feel your throat start to close around something, choking "Did a good job and came to me. Gonna let me take care of it?"

You stumble. You aren't sure what to say, you nod and hope he feels it. He laughs a little. You can't be sure if you're fucking Oliver or not.

You know it's him but he's never been like this. Not once. Not ever.

"Gonna let daddy take care of you?" He says, though it's tentative. Your breath hitches. Something strange overwhelms your senses "Tell me, baby."

"Uhm," Your first reaction is a sense of resistance, an immediate pull away. Not that you hate it but you aren't sure how to adjust. You squirm, but you don't tell him no. You feel like you can't in this state "Uh-uh,"

He keeps surprising you, pressing his lips to yours where you hover over him, tender as he ups the pace of his thrusts.

"That's what I like to hear," He almost sounds proud "You'll hurt your head if you think too much. And I'd be a bad daddy, letting that happen, yeah?"

A vulnerable, foreign sensation drives you to speak "You're not bad in that way."

He laughs "Just in other ways, right?"

You giggle "Uh-huh."

"But not in this one," He repeats, very carefully. He fucks into you harder now, pays extra special attention to you. It's all for you, is what he's saying in a language completely foreign yet somehow so known. One only the two of you will ever know fully, confined in the four walls of this room "Daddy is good at taking care of you like this, so you should let him do just that. Tough girls always need their daddies, hm?"

It's what ends up tipping you up over the edge. You cling to him, succumbing to whatever weird space the two of you have fallen into you. Suspended in this odd sense of comfort that Oliver has thrust you in unannounced.

You don't trust Oliver with a lot, and this is more than what you should ever find yourself giving. In the back of your head you think you should pull away.

But he's comforting. It feels good, and strangely feels safe - and even for all the ways he's awful, you trust he'd never do anything bad to you. Even if it's a blip in the timeline, for now it's what you need. A blurry cross into your emotional needs that translate into your physical ones. Too much and so overwhelming, you hug closer to him and take a deep breath.

"Mm," You let yourself lean into him. Just this once, you promise yourself. "I wanna cum."

"Want it a little harder?"

"Mhm,"

"Then Daddy will give it to you a little harder, yeah? Anything for you." He says, and you try not to think to deeply on what that really means. Because even in this state you know it's not nothing, but you should never pry "Daddy can give you anything you want."

"Yeah?"

He chuckles a little as he fucks into you hard. Fucks into you how you need. You're wet enough, and wondering if you were always so into being doted on. Or if it's just the fact that it's Oliver. Another thing you decide to overlook as you zero in on the sensation of being pistoned from underneath. You're soaking. The room noisy with the sticky noise of Olivers cock penetrating you over and over, skin hitting skin as his hips press against your ass. His grip is bruising but not intentionally, his chest huffed in pleasure.

He's just as close as you are, you know all of his cues. You play with your clit faster, sensitive bud throbbing hard as all the blood rushes south. Your mouth has fallen open as the slow, thick desire coiling and culminating into something cosmic. Something big and heavy, but not too fast. Not a crash landing like you're used to.

But a single weight, the force of a star dropping to Earth. You figure Oliver is the gravity in your universe, holding you down so you don't float too far. You want to cling onto him for much longer.

And somehow, you're inclined to think he would let you.

"Oliver," You say his name as it builds, then decide on something else "Daddy,"

"I'm here, baby," He says back, like it's all he has to say for everything to make sense when nothing about this does "I'm right here. Let go."

So you do. You cum hard, and it comes in long never ending waves. Too much. It makes you collapse in Olivers arms, both arms coming around his neck as he continues to fuck you through the aftermath.

"Gonna," He voices, rasping as his thrusts become sloppy "Shit. Cumming, shit."

He cums with you, cums deep inside like usual and you mewl at the feeling of being filled with hot, sticky seed.

When it's over, you're almost afraid to look at him. When the tensions settled, and his chest goes back to it's steady breaths - you wonder whats going to happen next.

"Wanna stay like this for a while?"

You nod.

"Mm. Sleepy."

"Stay like this, then. I'll wake you in a little."

"So you can kick me out?" You joke, trying to pretend nothing is different. He pauses.

"Just to shower," He whispers, hand resting on your lower back "Sleep."

There's too much to think about. Tomorrow will be strange. You let yourself succumb to your own exhaustion.

"Okay."

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