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Camp Stillwater is for Lovers | ONE-SHOT

Camp Stillwater has a bit of a reputation, but it was nothing you hadn't prepared for. Or so you thought.

⟡ content: eren jaeger x female reader, summer camp counselor au, mutual pining/getting together, explicit language, explicit sexual content, reader discretion advised. 18+ ⟡ word count: ~18k i'm so sorry ⟡ rewritten and reposted for my new blog | read on ao3

“Dude!”

Eren didn’t register how many ‘dudes!’ it took to get his attention before a sharp elbow jutted into his forearm. His hand slipped out from beneath his jaw, and he would have taken a face full of mashed potatoes if he hadn’t kept the crumb of awareness needed to catch himself first. 

He glared down at the culprit: Falco Grice.

Yes, that was his legal name. Eren checked the records last summer.

Falco, one of Eren’s seven assigned campers, sat by his side at the round table, like always.

“Stop staring. You’re starting to creep me out,” Falco muttered as he set down his fork. Eren could hardly hear him over the drone of background conversation, but there was no mistaking his teenage attitude. That part came through loud and clear. 

“I wasn’t staring. I was—” Eren interrupted himself with a sigh, realizing there was no use in lying.

“We’ve been here for two weeks, and I haven’t seen you talk to her once,” Falco pointed out.

“I talk to her! We talk about,” Eren paused, stuttering over his thoughts. “Things.”

Falco looked amused, his eyebrows sprung high on his forehead. “Oh yeah? Things. That sounds real interesting.”

Eren didn’t sound all that convincing right then, but it was the truth, believe it or not. But even he could admit Falco had a point: summer camp was halfway over, and Eren remained too big of a coward to do anything about his. . . feelings for you. He didn’t know what to call them yet. Falco named it a crush, but that felt too childish to Eren, like he was back in grade school alongside the rest of them, rather than the college-age student he was.

If it wasn’t clear enough already, the duo were talking about you.

Eren never asked for Falco’s ‘advice’ about you. He hoped this went without saying, but he would never take the advice of a thirteen-year-old about this sort of thing. Falco approached him first, like Eren’s love life was such a train wreck that he could no longer sit idle on the sidelines. Apparently, Eren was just that terrible with girls. 

Which was so not true, by the way. Eren did just fine, he liked to think. It had just been a while.

“I could fake drown,” Falco offered as casually as he would ask about the weather. “You know, like when you’re on lifeguard duty. You’d be a hero.”

That just might—

“Please don’t do that,” Eren said before he could go against his better judgment. But that didn’t stop Falco from hamming it up. He draped a hand over his forehead like a damsel in distress, with smooching sounds and everything.

Optically, Eren knew it wasn’t the best idea to flick a camper on his forehead, but he did so anyway. Falco barked, “Ow!” before it melted into a burst of victorious laughter.

Eren carried his emptied (sans the gritty mashed potatoes) plate in one hand and pointed to Falco’s untouched dinner with his other. “Hurry it up, would ya? We’re supposed to head back to the cabin in ten minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Falco grunted before poking around his plate.

To say Eren had a brotherly relationship with his campers would be a stretch, but Falco happened to be the exception—not by Eren’s choice, as he already established.

Falco was a returning camper from last year, meaning he (or perhaps just his parents) chose to dedicate four weeks out of his summer break to sleepaway camp, with Eren as his cabin leader again.

To Eren, the bigger surprise was that he even returned as counselor at Camp Stillwater in the first place. What he initially believed would be a blow-off gig to earn college credit actually turned out to be not so bad, considering he could spend the summer with his two best friends. Sure, Mikasa couldn’t be here this year, what with her change in program and new internship, but Armin made it. And let’s just say that after Eren discovered who filled Mikasa’s position, he forgot about her absence altogether.

It was quite the coveted position, too. For decades now, Camp Stillwater had an infamous reputation back at school for being—well, a fuck-fest. More like a fuck-off fest, if you asked Eren, since it was easy to get away with anything here.

This was only his second year here, but outside of various rumors and a handful of ‘incidents,’ Eren could confidently say the camp wasn’t nearly as horny as the stories made it sound. Then again, he didn’t get involved in those activities last year; he had a girlfriend at home. 

A now ex-girlfriend. 

No need for theatrics about it: the break-up was mutual, overdue, and old news. But if Eren still needed confirmation that he was over his ex, then you were just that.

For the first time since the break-up—maybe even before the break-up—Eren felt something again. Passion, a spark, a stupid crush. Call it what you wanted, but whatever it was, he felt it; this strange, enigmatic thing attracting him to you.

He loved it, this revived sense of infatuation that he hadn’t felt in so long, as much as he absolutely loathed it. 

Eren weaved between tables toward the dish return to find you there first. He recognized you from the back of your head alone—which wasn’t saying much since you were one of the handful of adults in the dining hall. He stalled, weighing his options, hating himself for letting Falco’s words creep under his skin. Why did he feel he had something to prove to a kid?

Before he decided what to do, you acted first, glancing over your shoulder and flickering a smile. You waited until he was another step closer before greeting, “Hi, Eren.”

Restless hands he would typically shove into his pockets busied themselves by reaching for your plate. “Let me get that for you,” Eren said, and those six measly words felt like the greatest challenge he faced all day. Even greater than the screaming girl he had to help down from the rock-climbing wall this morning. 

On your, “Thanks,” your lips parted into a warm smile, and any confidence Eren thought he had began floundering—much like that girl from earlier.

With that, the conversation died, and you went on with your evening.

To Eren, it was still a win. Albeit a small win, but still one for the books. He wanted to prove—not to anyone but himself, he’d decided—that the two of you talked sometimes. And he accomplished just that.

What the hell did Falco know, anyway?

*     *     *

“I saw you talking to Eren in the mess hall tonight,” Hitch said, both too knowingly and too loudly. She blathered on over the roar of her hair dryer. When you tried to tell her you couldn’t hear her, she only shouted, “Huh?”

You weren’t exactly friends, perhaps a smidgen past acquaintances, so you couldn’t predict if she’d see the humor in you unplugging her blow dryer.

Hitch was one of the four female camp counselors here—the others being Sasha, Annie, and yourself. She was the leader of your so-called ‘sister cabin,’ meaning you had the same activity schedules. For better or worse, you spent a lot of time together.

This also meant you couldn’t head back for lights out until she was ready—the buddy system and all that.

You sat patiently on the countertop beside her, watching your feet dangle, catching your shower shoes just before they could slip off your toes. Once that became boring, you began drawing on the mirror’s condensation with your fingers.

As she began wrapping the cord around the hair dryer to pack up, you explained, “I was just saying ‘hi.’”

There wasn’t anything more to it, nothing juicy like she’d hoped for. But juicy or not, you still quieted down when you heard padding feet round the corner shower, just in case. Only after Sasha poked her head out did you return to doodling on the mirror. You finished the last swoop of a smiley face as you said, “I don’t think that counts as talking.” 

Hitched shrugged, making way for Sasha to squeal, “Are you guys talking about Eren?”

Hitch stared the both of you down. In one breath, she confirmed Sasha’s hunch and tried (again) to pry the nonexistent details from you. “He cleared your plate for you. I think that counts as something.”

It unnerved you to know that she—no, she and Sasha had been watching so closely.

You folded your arms tightly against your chest as if to shut her out. “Are you always this nosy?”

She scoffed as Sasha blurted out, “He totally has a thing for you!”

You stiffened. You wished you didn’t, but it happened, and it was so palpable that both girls now eyed you like a pack of hyenas, eager for their next kill. You didn’t know what to say, only that you needed to shut it down.

“He’s just being nice,” you said. But on the inside, you were reeling.

There was no denying that you found Eren attractive. You’d thought so since the moment the camp director, Levi, introduced you to the bunch. He stood on the taller side, at least six feet, by your estimation. Lean but all muscle. With furiously green eyes nestled beneath dark brows, both often hidden behind grown-out hair he constantly pushed back, unless he’d tied it up. 

You’d never considered it seriously before, but to think he might have ‘a thing’ for you, as Sasha put it—let’s just say it changed your perspective on the matter. 

Sasha groaned like you’d caused her physical pain. “Puh-lease tell me you aren’t that stupid.”

“You should just hook up with him. I let Jean finger me behind a cabin last summer,” Hitch said, still as loud as ever. You must have had a visceral reaction—pulled a strange face or widened your eyes until she could see the whites—because she waved you off with, “S’no biggie.”

“She’s right,” Sasha agreed, leaning into you. Her brunette ponytail bounced along with her. “Or, who knows? Maybe you’ll end up like Annie and Armin.”

You didn’t know the pair very well—the least of the lot. They were the cute blonde couple that apparently met last summer and have been inseparable ever since. The only thing you knew for sure was that Armin was far, far more approachable than Annie. He held a native aquatic life program last week down by the lake that you thoroughly enjoyed.

“A little summer fling never hurt anyone,” Hitch sang.

You wanted to tell her she was wrong. They actually made an entire musical dedicated to the many woes of Summer Lovin’. But you ignored her and smeared away the fingerprints you’d left on the mirror. 

You had only known these girls for two weeks, and you had already concluded they were, for lack of a better term, boy crazy. Giggling, batting their lashes, face-sucking-and-fucking boy crazy.

But that didn’t mean you minded it. 

Maybe you would even go as far as to say their insistent lusting managed to stir your own. You were only human, after all. You could only listen to their stories for so long before dreaming up fantasies of your own. Some of which may or may not involve getting railed while away at summer camp. 

You’d keep that bit to yourself, of course. But the thoughts—the feelings, the urges, all brewing hot in your core—were hard to suppress. You’d become increasingly aware of them as the days trickled by, with Hitch’s tune stuck on a loop in the forefront of your mind. A little summer fling never hurt anyone, as fresh as the night she said it, on repeat until it practically drove you up a pine tree. 

So while the others might have thought it odd for you to volunteer to pair with Eren’s cabin for the morning hike, to you, it felt like a necessary first step. You just wished Sasha and Hitch hadn’t made the connection, gawking at you with grins too large for your liking.

The purpose of today’s hike was for the campers to test their knowledge of the ancient practice known as navigating via compass and map. The first group to follow directions correctly would find hidden treasure—though no one had informed you of what the ‘treasure’ was, so you were as curious as the rest. 

All that was to say, your only job was ensuring no one gravely injured themselves between now and the intercom call for lunch. Easy enough.

You walked slowly, purposefully dragging your heels in the dirt, and just like you hoped, Eren hung back with you. You stayed quiet, watching and waiting from a few steps behind until there was enough distance between you and the rest of the group. You couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than a bunch of middle schoolers overhearing this—your awful, shameless attempt at flirting. Even worse if it ended in a rejection. 

Eren rolled his shoulders in a stretch, and you unabashedly stared at the way the sunrise cast shadows against the flexed veins of his arms.

A small but nagging part of you couldn’t help but wonder if it was too early for this conversation. The birds were chirping, there was still pretty morning dew on the grass, and you were about to ask if this man wanted to fuck you later. There was no way in hell you could go through with this. 

Then you remembered Jean fingered Hitch behind a cabin, and you supposed you just had to take advantage of the opportunities as they arose. 

“Hey, Eren!” you called. 

He stopped, turned, and greeted you with a lop-sided smile. You picked up your pace and Eren fell right into stride.

The path you walked was unkempt, just as nature intended. You mazed through patches of weeds and overgrown roots, around loose stones so you didn’t twist an ankle. Though thinking about it now, it might not be the worst idea. Eren was the only one around to help you. . . 

“I hope you don’t mind being paired up with me,” you said.

“No, not at all,” Eren assured, but it more closely resembled an apology, like he was trying to recall if he’d done something to suggest otherwise. "You surprised me, though. That's for sure."

“Really? How come?” you asked, no longer looking at him sidelong but with eyes boring straight into his. At least, that was what it felt like to Eren. And when you coupled it with your adorable head tilt, he quickly fell apart. 

He jerked his attention down to the path, laser-focusing on one rock in particular, kicking it along with him. “I guess I figured you’d go with Hitch or Sasha.”

“As much as I like them, I’d prefer not to get myself lost in the woods today.” 

Off in the distance (southeast, according to your compass), a shriek echoed through the trees. Your ears perked, but the howls of laughter that followed eased any worry. You began walking together again, picking right up from where you left off. 

“I thought I might actually try to learn something from this trip,” you half-truthed, like reading a compass was the hardest task in the world, and you hadn’t just done it. 

Here’s the thing: you wanted to have a takeaway from summer camp—to learn from him, in a more roundabout sense of the word. You just preferred a more private lesson.

Not so incidentally, you brushed your hand against the back of Eren’s as you hummed, “And you seem like the kind of guy who knows what he’s doing.”

Your voice tried for light and bubbly and succeeded, but the insinuation was a heavy-handed smack to Eren’s face. Were you flirting with him?

He didn’t have the time to answer his own question before you added, “Like, about the forest and stuff. You worked here last summer, right?”

What was he thinking? Of course you weren’t flirting with him.

The whole situation gave him pause. He collected himself to reply only for a soft mhm to come out. Nothing about it was light or bubbly. 

You nodded despite there being nothing to agree on. For a moment, you let the silence between you fizzle. It wasn’t awkward, though; it was thoughtful. Intentional. With each passing second, anticipation wound itself into a tight coil, ready and rearing and hot to spring. And this time, when you bumped your hand against Eren’s, it acted much like a match to sandpaper, trying to draw a spark. 

“You know,” you drawled, “I’d love to hear more about it sometime—get to know each other more.” 

So you were flirting. Eren didn’t have any doubt about it now, even as he struggled to keep up. He felt like he’d been strapped to the world’s worst carnival ride, spun round and round until his head was so dizzy he couldn’t form even the simplest of sentences. Sure. Okay. Sounds good. Even a fucking thumbs up. Everything evaded him.

Luckily for Eren, you did just fine at carrying on the conversation (if this could even be classified as one) on your own. 

“Sasha’s hosting her archery program this afternoon.” There was an unspoken allure to your voice. It made Eren burn from the inside out. “That gives us a free hour after lunch, if you want to hang out in my cabin.”

He hoped to god there wasn’t a flush to his cheeks. 

“Unless you’re busy. . .”

“No, no,” Eren rushed to say. He cleared his throat. “I mean, no, I’m not busy. And yes, I can be there. If that’s what you want.”

You smiled. “If that wasn’t what I wanted, then I wouldn’t have asked, silly.”

Before Eren could think of what to say back, a camper dashed out of the thicket of trees and straight to you, screaming about boys putting cicada shells in her hair.

It was probably best that he couldn’t get a word in, Eren thought, because he had the feeling it wouldn’t have been particularly witty or clever. So he just watched as you hurried to the girl’s aid, left completely baffled by what the hell just happened.

*     *     *

You heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Right on time. Five minutes past the hour, after the campers had already started their trek to archery. Your body responded before your heart could catch up, leaving you light-headed after you sprung for the door.

Blame it on the lack of blood reaching your brain, but you clearly weren’t thinking when you swung the door open. Eren hadn’t knocked yet. He was just about to, with his hand hung frozen mid-air, and it reminded you how you hadn’t given him the chance.

You laughed a little, said, “Hey,” at the same time Eren did, then could only laugh more because what else were you supposed to do?

The door shut behind him, and the heavy sound reverberated through the cabin. The air was taut, practically buzzing with what you could only describe as electricity. Every ba-dum of your racing heart pounded higher in your chest until you could feel it in your ears.

Eren ran a hand through his hair and scratched at the back of his head. His gaze shifted around the cabin tentatively, from the girlish bunks decorated in plushies to the curtains you'd pulled shut minutes ago. Then, finally, his eyes landed on you. 

His lips pulled into a sheepish smile as he asked, “You didn’t ask me to come because you were actually hoping to hear about my time last year, did you?” 

Your laugh was authentic this time. The kind that surprised even you. It tugged at the tension, unraveling the knot you’d let form in your stomach while waiting on Eren.

You’d wondered which option was the most anxiety-inducing: if he did or didn’t show up. But now, standing here on knees that felt more wobbly than you preferred, as he looked at you with a smile your laughter brought about, you were so relieved he was here. 

“As riveting as I’m sure your experience was. . .” You moved toward him, through the air that didn’t feel quite as thick anymore. “No, I wasn’t actually hoping to hear about your time at camp last year.”

While you spoke, you traced up his palm, the inside of his wrists. Along the length of his arm until you could flatten it against his chest, watching how his throat pulsed in response. 

You couldn't think of a time you fooled around in a bunk bed before. A twin bed, plenty of times, but never with another looming inches above your head. This had to be a first, you thought, as you led him to your bed. Eren sat first, drew you into him, and you had to duck before straddling his lap. 

Already, you felt a tingle. It ignited in the lowest part of you and radiated from the tips of your fingers down to your toes. Every fiber of your being had been set ablaze, and he’d hardly touched you yet; he hadn’t even kissed you. 

Right then, you realized how much you’d been thinking about him—like really thinking about him. That the hazy, featureless man you’d imagined fucking against a slippery shower wall had a face, and maybe he had all along. You knew you’d been craving this, but you had no idea as to how desperately your body needed him.

You truly were no better than those other boy crazy girls, were you?

Despite your positioning—his hands on your waist, yours on his shoulders, with your crotch hovering just above his—you kept your mouths apart. You touched everywhere except there, where it counted, with mere centimeters separating you. You watched his eyes scan over your face, studying an expression you couldn’t begin to guess, and it sent a blooming heat through the back of your neck. 

The two of you stayed like that for longer than you should have for only having an hour, even less, to yourselves. Each of you, waiting for the other person to make the first move. Sharing shallow breaths under the crushing weight of wanting, yet fearing you were the one who interpreted this whole situation wrong. As if both of you didn’t very clearly meet here with just one thing on your minds. 

“You’ve—” Eren’s voice sounded lost in his throat. He wrangled it back before continuing, “You’ve done this before, yeah?” 

You didn’t know what this referred to specifically, but you could infer. 

“Yeah,” you replied, tipping your mouth to his. Closer, but still shy of touching. 

Just your one-word answer eased some of Eren’s hesitancy. Sure, he came to Camp Stillwater knowing what happened behind locked doors, even (regretfully) witnessed some of the stories you’d probably heard, but this felt fast. If someone were to ask him how he wound up here with you, like this, he wouldn’t be able to explain it. 

Not that he was complaining. But he needed to know that you knew what you were getting yourself into. 

You sensed he was waiting on you. For you to give the go-ahead. The green light for him to continue his exploring. You didn’t think he’d make the first move without it. 

Your fingers absently toyed with the collar of his t-shirt while you told him, “I want you to kiss me.”

Eren felt each word as they broke over his lips. He could have sworn he tasted them, too. Sweet and warm, with the faintest chill of mint. He safely assumed you must have come straight from lunch to brush your teeth, anticipating him.

The thought alone, shamefully, did something to him. Because here you were, plopped into his lap, looking so pretty that he was already hard, asking for the very thing he’d been fantasizing about over the last two weeks.

Okay, maybe Eren had fantasized about more—a lot more. But right now, you were goddamn perfect. He could only think about how lucky he felt for this. Just this. Even if it never became anything more than this.

The feeling swelled in his chest the longer you looked at him, biting your lip, waiting. But even after you’d been plenty patient, Eren didn’t kiss you. He didn’t even try to. He just looked and looked at you, while you puzzled over what he could possibly be thinking about. You noticed a glint in his irises, as quick as a flash of lightning. There and gone, almost like you’d imagined it if not for the smirk hinting at one corner of his mouth. 

“If you want something.” Eren leaned back. His palms pressed into the mattress behind him, and the springs trilled under the shift in weight. He sat back enough for him to uncomfortably fit below the top bunk. “You should take it.”

Your stomach flip-flopped. The same feeling you get on a rollercoaster, but better. You took his challenge and chased after him. He guided you in with a hand on your back, swirling small encouraging circles against the dip in it.

Eren didn’t mind sitting passenger to you. In fact, he preferred it. He was happy to give into you, let you drive, so long as you brought him along for the ride—wherever it took him.

You perched higher onto your knees, moving with him like there was a string connecting you, with a sort of magnetism, until you were face-to-face, then lips-to-lips. 

A blink-and-you-miss-it pause passed as you learned the feeling of his lips against yours. They were soft; he was soft. As you sank your lips into his, his hand on your side tightened, giving you a squeeze that sent a surge of electricity up your thighs.

He matched you every step of the way, only deepening the kiss after you initiated. Not letting his tongue slip into your mouth until you’d coaxed it out of him with your own. The kiss was slow but deliberate. Attentive, yet you could feel his eagerness in the slight tremble to his fingers, pushing beneath your shirt and trailing along your spine. 

You returned to his lap, settling in to feel him hard beneath you, pressing between your legs. As you ground down onto him, a loan groan bubbled from his throat.

Eren felt his cock twitch in need, straining behind layers of boxer briefs and cargo shorts. It was a true test of willpower for him, but what little composure he pretended to have slipped through his fingers. His hips lifted from the bed, bucking to meet yours as you rocked back and forth. 

The kiss became more desperate then. Much more desperate. With his hands flattened against your back, keeping your bodies melded together, and your fingers tangled and twisted in his hair. You felt every groove and point of his teeth as he drew your bottom lip between them. It pulled a gasp from you that rang in his ears like a reward. He tried to encourage another, stealing a nip at your swollen lip. 

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, nails scratching at the cheap camp logo printed on the front. You wanted it off. You tugged at the fabric until he got the hint. He yanked it over his head in one quick movement before bringing his lips back to you.

Eren’s mouth dragged hot breath from your jaw to your ear. His voice was husky, almost a whisper, when he asked you, “This okay?”

He punctuated with a warm hand slipping around your front, exceedingly close to the underwire of your bra. On your nod, he ventured higher, with his thumb scraping against the cup, bending it back. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, rolling your nipple between his fingers until you whined against his ear. 

Eren took you by the shoulders, putting an arm’s length between you so he could remove your shirt. You felt more like a rag-doll than human, flopped around with your head lagging on a second’s delay. You blinked the spins away, outstretching your arms so he could toss your shirt over your head and into the accumulating pile on the floor. 

Your gaze dropped to Eren’s face, cupped between your hands, cheeks warm and alive beneath your palms. You both breathed hard, uneven breaths, chests heaving like you’d just finished a marathon—his sporting a telling flush that matched the one spanning the bridge of his nose and complementing his eyes. 

You gently traced your finger over his lips, still wetted from your kiss, and you felt the moment they pulled into a smile, replicating the one spreading across your face. All you could think about—all you wanted to do was kiss him again. 

You folded over top of him, doing exactly as you wanted, kissing him wherever you pleased. You could smell the summer on his skin, taste it as you kissed and licked and sucked your way from the tip of his jaw down his chest. You were conscious about not leaving marks, or at least you thought you were. Faint hickeys bloomed every time you just couldn’t help yourself, when you would discover a spot—one behind his ear, another in the dip of his collarbone—that made his breath stutter heavily in his throat.

The hand he had on your ass gripped harder, bearing you down on him. You slithered a hand between you, smoothing over his tight stomach, and reached to undo the button of his shorts, then the zipper next. 

You laid against his chest, still kissing at his neck as you palmed his cock through his boxers. Eren groaned, low and breathless, as you felt him throb against your hand. When he released his grip on you, you expected him to tear his shorts off entirely. But he had you flipped onto your back instead, so quickly that you yelped as your back hit the mattress. 

Eren leaned over you, a lazy grin painted on his face, as he slipped your shorts down your legs. He ran a hand through his hair, catching the strays that fell into his face so he could get a better view of you. He kept your panties on and in place, dipping a daring finger below the band and running it along your belly. It tickled. Your hips wiggled in response, and his grin only grew. 

He thumbed over the damp spot on your underwear, feeling your clit just beneath the fabric. Just a tad more pressure elicited a moan from you, and your head lurched from the bed. You sat back on your forearms, watching him rub away the tension that had amassed between you, alleviating the aching of your insides and melting it into headless pleasure. 

You darted a hand to touch him too, asking, “Did you bring a condom?” 

“Shit.” Eren’s head dropped, hair falling back into its rightfully messy place. “No.”

He had a million other things on his mind. Of course, he’d forget the condom.

Now that you mentioned it, he didn’t even bring condoms to camp. But he was sure Jean or Connie had some. Eren would worry about how to ask for them later, but for now, he promised, “I can get one for next time.”

You angled your head in that cute way you often did. “Next time?” 

Eren’s face paled. Out of the goodness of your heart, you only let him stammer for a second before cutting him off with a laugh. “Next time sounds good.” Relief washed over him in an instant, his thumb resuming its circling. You sighed, nestling into the sheets. “I guess this is pretty nice.”

He gave you that lop-sided smile again, and it made your heart somersault. He tipped his chin closer into you. “Yeah?” 

Eren’s lips had barely brushed yours when there was a knock at the door. The loud sound of a persistent little fist. With a startle, you sprang away from him and slammed your head on the top bunk. 

“Fuck!” you cursed way too loudly. 

At the thunk alone, Eren winced like he’d done it himself and reached for you. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” you hissed in pain. You swatted his hand, then immediately regretted it. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m fine.” 

He didn’t believe you, but couldn’t do anything about it because there was another set of knocks. Whoever was on the other side called your name, asking, “Are you in there? Why is the door locked?” 

Muttering a chant of curses—shit, shit, shit!—you clumsily pulled your shorts back up, nearly tumbling off the bed as you went. Ignoring the pounding in the crown of your head, you scrambled to put on your shirt as you called out, “Just a second!”

You mouthed, “Hide!” to Eren and waved for him to duck under the blankets. It didn’t solve much, he was still very much there, but it was better than nothing.

You skittered to the door, unfastened the rusted lock, and opened it just wide enough for you to squeeze through the gap. Gabi stood before you, hands on her hips, as you shut the door behind you. 

“Sorry, I was changing,” you said. Your voice sounded far gone, and you tried your best to find it before asking, “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Sasha?” 

“Zofia didn’t believe that I have this scrunchie in every color. I needed to prove her wrong,” she said matter-of-factly. She held out the scrunchie as evidence before shoving it back into her pocket. 

You exhaled, hard. “That’s no reason to go wandering off by yourself. You’re bunkmates—show them to her later.” You set your hands on her shoulders and spun her around. “Here, let me walk you back to archery.”

“Fine,” she grumbly agreed.

You waited until she was just far enough to not notice when you poked back inside the cabin. You scooped your shoes in one hand and whisper-shouted, “Sorry!”

“It’s—” Eren watched the door slam shut, “okay.” 

He sat there, alone. Blinking, disoriented, and unbelievably horny. Praying that there would still be a next time. When he could only assume the coast was clear, he got himself dressed and snuck out the back door. 

*     *     *

“So.” Falco paused, wholly absorbed in tying off the string bracelet he’d made. “Did you kiss her?”

Eren’s eyes widened. If he’d been drinking water, he would have probably even done a spit take. Again, how was this any of Falco’s business? 

A minute ago, Falco not-so-offhandedly mentioned he saw you and Eren hiking together the other day. Eren told him to mind his own bee’s wax and hoped that would be the end of it. He should have known that wouldn't stop the nosy punk.

He visibly prickled, thinking about that day, with you. 

Falco took it personally. “Sheesh, I was just asking.” He gave up on the bracelet, sighing defeatedly before handing it to Eren. “Can you tie this for me?” 

Eren plucked the bracelet from him in quiet agreement. He felt slightly guilty for giving a kid the silent treatment, even if it was deserved. As he fiddled with the tiny strings, he tried to think of how to phrase this in grade school terms. If kissing was all the way, then. . .

“We,” Eren mulled over his choice of words, “held hands.”

Falco laughed. He cackled! Snorting, “Seriously?” in a way that made Eren feel ashamed despite being the adult in the situation—which only made him feel worse. 

Eren flung the tied bracelet at Falco. “What do you know about girls, anyway? You’re, like, twelve.”

“Thirteen,” Falco corrected, though he was well-aware Eren knew his age. 

The two sat at a picnic table, the same one Eren had been seated at all afternoon, crafting bracelets because that was his post for the day. 

Let him repeat that: he had been making bracelets for the entire afternoon. So many that he thought his fingers would fall off by the time Falco asked for his help. Eren wanted to complain about it but couldn’t; there were definitely worse internships out there.

Falco rose from the table and sorted through the small pile of bracelets beside Eren—because he had been making them all afternoon. He picked his presumable favorite, with white and turquoise strings, and extended it to Eren. 

“Give her this,” he said. “I gave one to Gabi the other day, and she hasn’t taken it off since.”

Eren didn’t budge. “I’m not giving her a stupid string bracelet.” 

“‘Cause your plan,” Falco used air quotes around the word ‘plan,’ “is going so much better.”

Eren reminded himself who he was talking to and bit his tongue. “Fine, okay. I’ll give her the bracelet.”

It was a lie, but it was enough for Falco. He walked away with a satisfied grin. Just in time for the dinner bell to chime, and for Eren to finally escape the beating sun. 

The short walk to the dining hall was the first breather Eren had to himself in hours. He clung to it, slowing to a stroll as campers rushed by, calling one another out for races. He messed with the bracelet Falco handed him—one of the many Eren had made, but the only one he hadn’t left behind.

Eren wished things were as easy as Falco made them sound. As easy as giving you this bracelet and holding your hand—actually holding hands—and it meant the two of you were together. But you’d done much more than that, and somehow Eren felt more clueless than ever. He hadn’t even had a chance to talk to you since everything happened. 

That didn’t mean he’d stopped thinking about it, about you, almost to an insufferable degree. 

Take last night, for example: Eren lied awake in his bunk, restless, tortured by thoughts of you—though the camper with the nasty snoring habit didn’t make sleep come any easier.

The afternoon played in Eren’s mind on repeat like an old cassette tape he could rewind again and again. But the longer he listened, the more it started sounding like a bad, broken record. Agonizing over what he should or shouldn’t have done—if he came on too strong or, rather, if he didn’t try enough. Were his hands in the right places as he held you close? Did you like how he touched you—how he kissed you? 

Even thinking about it now, Eren could still feel your weight in his lap; the backs of your thighs pressing against the tops of his, letting the heat of your body spill into him like a flood. The softness of your mouth against his, and your hand working over his—

“Whatcha got there?”

He jumped when you appeared from his peripheral vision. Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice and continued smiling at him as you asked, “Did you make that?”

Eren’s heart dropped into his stomach, maybe even deeper. There was no chance Falco’s plan would work. It would only result in him making a fool of himself in front of you, he was sure.

“No, um, Falco made it,” he lied in an attempt to hide his panic. “For you, actually.” 

Your eyes lit up as you took the bracelet from him and began inspecting it. “For me?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I think he was too shy to give it to you.” 

A giggle escaped you when you replied, “Seems like someone has a crush. Cute.”

Your airy cadence almost convinced him otherwise, but Eren believed you spoke to him directly. Like this was no longer about Falco.

He felt trapped under your quicksand gaze, struggling to sense if you saw through his bumbling excuse of a lie, and he’d been found out. 

But even if he managed to come up with something to say, no matter how brilliant, he wouldn’t have been able to speak it. Standing there in the sun’s fading light, you’d taken his breath away. Washed in shades of vibrant pink, of pale Dreamsicle orange, you looked more like a painting than a person. 

Beautiful.

“Yeah,” Eren said under his breath, so quietly that even he wasn’t sure he meant to say it aloud. “A crush.”

“I hope you’re not jealous,” you teased. You returned the bracelet before extending your wrist to him. “Here. Tie it on for me.” 

As much as he never wanted to tie another bracelet in his life, he supposed once more wouldn’t kill him. Only for you, though.

The sensation of his fingertips ghosting your skin drummed up memories of the other day, and you imagined them skating along your spine. You retracted your hand just as Eren finished, hoping to hide the goosebumps he’d left behind.

“Levi’s hosting tonight’s event, right?” you asked, if not for conversation’s sake alone, then for confirmation he would be there tonight, in Cabin #9. 

Late after dinner, the campers would circle around the fire pit for s’mores and a scary story—a Camp Stillwater classic, as you learned. They did this every year, apparently. The only thing that made this year different was. . . 

“Yeah.” Eren paused on a small chuckle. “Did you see that ridiculous costume Hange brought?”

Hange was the activity director here at Camp Stillwater and the mastermind behind tonight’s plan to spice up this age-long tradition. When Hange explained the plan to jump out at the end of Levi’s story, Jean and Connie took bets on how many kids would pee themselves.

Honestly, you didn’t think Levi even knew about it, or else he probably would have locked Hange in a supply closet and burned the god-awful costume for good measure. You couldn’t wait to hear about it tomorrow. 

While that chaos ensued, the camp counselors would enjoy a night of their own, spent in Cabin #9. Unlike the other eight that had wildlife-themed names—like Badger or Mallard, or yours: Chickadee Cabin—this was just the spare cabin they used to house necessities like toilet paper and extra first aid kits. Where there were practically no risks for interruptions. 

“Unfortunately, I did, which means I will be actively avoiding the fire pit for the foreseeable future,” you said, joining in on Eren’s laugh. You rested your hand in the crook of his arm as if you'd done it a million times before, and the muscle flexed under your unexpected touch. “So, I guess that means I’ll be seeing you tonight?” 

It was the vocal equivalent of a wink, your question. You made it known you were very much anticipating seeing Eren tonight—thank god. And though he more than felt the same, he could only affirm it with a nod and a short, “Tonight.”

Eren watched you head into the dining hall but decided not to follow. Instead, he ducked away for a breather; he needed to walk around for a minute and cool off his thoughts. 

Cabin #9 looked like the rest except for the sheets missing from the beds. It also carried this vacant sort of smell that reminded you of a basement. But with the eight of you sitting around, you soon forgot the weird smell. Laughter replaced the emptiness, warmed and spirited by wine and a bottle of Scotch Jean had apparently been snitching from. 

It was easy to imagine how innocent rounds of cards quickly regressed into strip poker. But that game lasted even shorter, considering only a handful of you knew how to play. The final nail in the coffin was when Annie had to remove an article of clothing, and Connie weirdly suggested her socks, of all things. You swore she was about to sock him straight in the jaw before Armin stepped in (no pun intended).

The only rightful progression from there was to move onto seven minutes in heaven—because unlike strip poker, there was no way that could go wrong.

As the game goes, everyone would shove the chosen couple into the bathroom, where they had seven minutes to do as they pleased with one another. The remaining had to promise to keep themselves distracted, that they most definitely wouldn’t listen in on the action from the other side of that shabby door. 

While everyone argued and pointed fingers over who should have to go first, Sasha corralled you and Eren into the bathroom together and shut the door behind you, probably leaning with her back against it to keep you locked inside. 

Though these weren’t the circumstances you would have picked for this conversation, you were glad to have the next seven minutes alone to address the elephant looming in the supply bathroom. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but Eren’s voice came out, telling you, “I’m sorry about the other day. For, you know, being weird and stuff.” 

You didn’t know why he was apologizing. For reasons out of his control—Gabi, the stars being out of alignment, or perhaps it was merely a case of the wrong place, wrong time—the afternoon was weird. But none of it was his fault. If anything, you expected to be the one apologizing for running out on him. 

With a shake of your head, you said, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry I was weird and left without saying anything.” 

There was a beat of silence you spent fiddling with your hands while he kept his buried in his pockets. But even then, you couldn’t help but crack a giggle, just at the sheer absurdity of the situation you’d found—no, put yourselves in. 

“I’m just glad to see you made it back to your cabin all right,” you jested, one final blow to the tension between you. 

Eren swallowed down the saliva that’d grown thick in his throat and gave a soft laugh. You had this wonderful way about you, he was learning. This innate talent for rendering him breathless, wordless, thoughtless—every -less in the book. And yet, at the same time, just a wisp of your smile, a giggle, had him breathing easy again. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember the nights he’d spent agonizing over you, only how foolish he’d be to pass up this chance to be close to you again.

The space between you was tight enough for him to near you in only a step. He tilted his chin to smile down at you.

“Despite the painfully awkward boner I had tucked into my waistband,” he chuckled. “Yes, I made it back to my cabin all right.”

You snorted a laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry to have abandoned you in such a state. However will I make it up to you?” 

“You don’t have to do anything, but. . .” That wasn’t to say he would mind a kiss. 

Eren’s voice trailed off as his fingers locked around your belt loops to pull you even closer. He bent, trailing his nose down the slope of yours. Your heart instantly fluttered. 

“We still don’t have any condoms,” you whispered against his mouth. Close, but still not touching. “Not like seven minutes is much time, anyway.”

Eren’s fingers toyed with your belt loops. Your hips moved with a slight swivel between his hands, but his eyes didn’t leave you once. They looked greener in the dark, somehow. “That’s okay. I actually wanted to—”

You interrupted him with a kiss, straight on his lips. Then it was the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and onto his neck, where you could feel his pulse point jump beneath the press of your mouth. 

—Talk to you about something. 

But this was okay, too. More than. 

You pushed a hand beneath his shirt and splayed it across his stomach. He felt your palm travel lower and lower, where he was already half-erect just from being this close to you and the promise of no interruptions (for approximately six minutes and some change). 

Your voice was a humid murmur, hot against his skin when you asked, “Want me to give you head?”

If Eren believed his brain was malfunctioning before, then this was a full-system meltdown. Like he had short-circuited and his boy brain took over. 

He nodded dumbly. “Yeah, sure.”

Your hand made quick work of his shorts, then snuck beneath his boxers to touch him for real this time. Your fingers glided along his length, so teasingly that you felt him jolt against your palm, before you took him into a gentle grasp. Your other hand stretched the neck of his shirt so you could kiss his collarbone, where you remembered he liked.

Eren let his eyes flit shut. He lost himself in your touches, the feeling of your soft fingers wrapping around him to jerk him off. He completely forgot the conversation he hoped to have with you tonight—the one about his feelings and what not.

Hell, he even forgot your promise of a blow job until he finally opened his eyes to see you staring up at him, with your neck stretched and chin resting on his chest. Eren blinked to steady his vision and watched as you sank to your knees, dragging his shorts down with you. 

You captured his gaze, holding onto it even as you fingered his waistband. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation, tugging at his boxers so slowly that once they sat low enough on his waist, you’d created enough tension for his cock to spring out. It hung heavy before you, centimeters away from your lips, and saliva pooled on the back of your tongue. You lapped at him, properly spreading your spit over his length. A gruff sound left him, placated by your wet tongue, for now, but still in desperate need of more. 

Perching higher on your knees, you laid one hand against Eren’s thigh while the other aligned the head of his cock with your open mouth. Your lips stretched around the thick of him, wider as you pulled a breath in through your nose, preparing to take more of him. 

With every bob of your head, his cock reached deeper, nearing the opening to your throat. You sucked and swallowed around him until he was good and sensitive, the underside of his cock throbbing against your tongue, encouraging you to keep going. 

Your mouth on him felt like the closest thing to heaven he could imagine. Warm and wet and snug around him. Slick as you swirled your tongue in tandem with your hand. It squeezed and slipped, up and down, up and down, slathering your saliva down the base of his cock. 

Heat began emanating from the low part of his stomach, scattering throughout every part of him in frissons. And while you were the one on your knees in front of him, Eren felt he ought to be worshiping you. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” Eren groaned, his breath hitching before picking up. “You’re good—really fucking good at that.” 

His voice, all low and growly, dripping with indulgence, made you aflutter. You hummed in acknowledgement, warming to his praise. He must have felt it, the subtle vibration in your throat, because his thigh flexed beneath your palm, and his hand quickly sought the top of your head for extra support. 

As the countdown ticked by, you knew someone could interrupt at any minute, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. In that moment, you attuned yourself to Eren and only him, with eyes dedicated to him as you sucked his cock, now for your mutual pleasure it seemed. 

You felt like butter, and he the hot knife, melting you into a puddle right at his feet. He would curse and tell you what a good job you were doing; pet the crown of your head or caress your cheek. He did everything you would never expect from a quick bathroom blow job—up until you had the entirety of him in your mouth, with the tip of your nose buried in the soft tuft of hair on his stomach. Then he had to stop to muffle himself with his forearm. 

You thought you might gag. Out of fear of anyone hearing you, you pulled yourself off him with a sputter and a shameful amount of drool. You wiped yourself dry(-ish) with the back of your wrist, then rushed to replace your mouth with strokes of your hand. When you glanced up at him, you found a certain softness in his eyes, hidden behind his lust-laden lids. 

As talented as you were with your mouth—and your hands and your tongue—Eren finally felt he could let out a much-needed exhale. Yes, he wanted to come. Of course, he wanted that. But what he needed was clarity, to pull himself together. Not to mention, the thought of figuring out where he should finish—or unexpectedly doing so—freaked him out. 

Eren swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Actually, wait. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” 

He hooked his arms beneath yours and helped you onto your feet. Noting the tremble to your legs, he held you by your shoulders, keeping you at a small distance if not for temptation alone.

Tonight on his walk to Cabin #9, Eren had vaguely planned what he wanted to say to you. But whatever he had scraped together was lost on him the moment you put his dick in your mouth. To try to remember any of it now would be useless. 

Between Eren’s ragged breaths, he began his ‘confession’ with, “I think about you a lot.” 

You angled your head. “Oh?” 

He realized how that sounded, especially when said in this position. “Wait, not like that. Well, sorta—but like, not in a weird way.” He felt like a goddamn idiot, with his pants quite literally around his ankles. “Ah, hold on a second.”

Eren yanked his shorts back up. “What I’m trying to say is—” He huffed in a fluster. “I’m trying to say that I—”

The door flung open. Both you and Eren stiffened under the shock of bright light. 

“Time’s up!” Connie shouted, grinning from ear to ear at the sight laid out before him. It wasn’t as X-rated as it could have been if he’d burst in just a minute earlier, but it was still pretty compromising, at least for Eren, standing there with his pants undone. And you didn’t even want to know how your hair looked. 

With one swing of his arm, Eren elbowed Connie out of the bathroom and slammed the door. Even with a door between you, you could hear everyone’s amusement as plain as day. Oohs and aahs and fits of giggles. Humiliation engulfed you like a cloak, leaving you unable to do anything but cover your steaming-hot face and laugh. 

Eren laughed, too. He couldn’t restrain it because, frankly, the only word that could describe this experience was laughable. You were zero for two in successful hook-ups, and it wasn’t looking like the odds were in your favor with your knack for interruptions, even if this time should have been expected. 

Eren caught your wrists, guiding them away from your face so he could see you and your breathless smile. As you collected yourself, Eren picked up the pieces from where he’d left off.

“What I was trying to say was—”

“Oh my god. Are you guys fucking in there?”

It wasn’t Connie this time, but Hitch. She busted in with her foot in the air like she’d kicked in the door. She grabbed you by the wrists, not nearly as gently as Eren had, and dragged you out of the bathroom. You looked back at Eren apologetically, ignoring Hitch’s complaints. 

“Other people want to play! Don’t make it gross in there for the rest of us,” she barked.

What was Eren trying to tell you? Your heart pounded at the thought—that, or you were still coming down from the thrill that was seven minutes in heaven. 

But when you turned to look for him, after Hitch had freed you from her clutches, he was no longer there. You spun around the room only to realize you wouldn’t get to know what Eren wanted to tell you. He was gone. 

*     *     *

As you predicted, Levi was pissed after the stunt Hange pulled at the bonfire. And it wasn’t just him. A single pair of pants were pissed as well, meaning Jean won his bet against Connie.

Gabi made sure to include every detail, recounting the night with tears in her eyes, choking on her laughter and breakfast sausage. You’d only known the girl for a handful of weeks—though it felt like a lifetime after spending countless hours cramped in the same cabin—but that was more than enough time for you to learn she was quick-witted. Extremely so. She’d mastered her craft by the age of thirteen, and no one was off limits, yourself included. It was no surprise she found last night’s events nothing short of hilarious.

In fact, you’d argue she was too perceptive, always asking the sort of questions you didn’t know how to answer. You couldn’t blame her, just like you couldn’t blame the rest of your campers for their healthy dose of curiosity when it came to college life. Even if it did occasionally toe the line into nosiness.

But out of the millions of questions they threw at you, the one that you expected the least came on the very last day of camp, asked by none other than Gabi herself. 

“Are you going to date Eren when you go back to school?” 

This was what you meant when you said she was curious. 

You stopped dead in your tracks, eyes bugged and searching for the source of the voice. Gabi leaned out the cabin window with this devious grin on her face, propped between her hands as she waited for your answer. Did she really need to shout it out the window?

You shuffled over, chuckling awkwardly as you asked, “What are you talking about?” 

Her eyes narrowed in interest, like you had fallen into her trap.

“Falco told me he has a crush on you,” Gabi said, deadpan. “And you have a crush on him, soooo. . .”

You put your hands on your hips. “Who said I have a crush on him?” 

Gabi pulled this you’ve gotta be kidding me face with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Whatever.”

She ducked back into the cabin as the realization hit you—when you finally caught the first part of what she said. 

“Wait!” you called after her. 

You sprinted around the cabin, meeting her as she emerged from the front door. She had her belongings in tow, dragging her suitcase along the gravel as you asked, “How does Falco know he has a crush on me?”

You hated how you allowed your interest, your urgency, to seep through. You hated even more how Gabi’s keen self detected it; the glint of satisfaction in her eyes was as clear as day. But that was all she gave you. She continued on toward the parent pickup lot, waving a hand high over her head but never looking back as she yelled, “See you next summer!” 

Was that what Eren wanted to tell you the other night? That had to be it. 

To think, he might have been trying to muster the courage to ask you out, and all the while, you were asking to suck him off. 

You should have seen this coming. After all, Sasha did say Eren had ‘a thing’ for you. But back then, she could have meant anything by it. She could have meant he just wanted to fuck and leave it at that, and you probably would have been okay with it—back then.

Now, you felt much differently about everything, about him. You glanced at your wrist, down at the bracelet Falco had made for you. Supposedly. You had no reason to doubt it before, but now, you had one big flashing-in-your-face reason. 

Just like that, as quick as a flip of a switch, you saw the bracelet in a new light. You looked at it and thought of Eren, the expression that crossed his face when he went to tie it on for you. Unreadable then, but thinking about it now, it made sense, didn’t it?

Before it was too late and Levi had locked up for the season, you hurried to the craft building to check for any leftover string. 

You couldn’t have known this, but on the far side of camp, Falco had a similar parting conversation with Eren. Unprompted, as always, and never when Eren wished—not that he ever wished to have these types of talks.

Falco was the last camper in Coyote Cabin after unpacking and repacking his suitcase three times, fighting to get it shut. 

“How is it you’re leaving with more than you brought?” Eren huffed as he wrestled with the stubborn zipper. “You’re supposed to lose things at camp. Haven’t you seen the lost and found?” 

Falco took the question literally and thought aloud. “Let’s see. I painted a t-shirt for myself. Then I painted another one for my mom. . .” Each bit and bob he’d scavenged over the month he ticked off on his fingers, contentedly sitting atop his suitcase to weigh it down. “By the way, your girlfriend has been acting super weird around me the last few days. Like she wants to pinch my cheeks—what’s with that?”

Ugh. As if you weren’t on his mind enough already.

With a final yank, Eren sealed the suitcase. He rose to his feet with a sigh. “She’s not my girlfriend. I thought you of all people would know that.” Eren extended a hand to Falco and helped him up, knowing the next thing he’d say was, “And I might have told her you have a crush on her.”

“Seriously?”Falco cried. “She’s old enough to be my mom!”

Eren clicked his tongue. “We’re not that old.”

“Well, you better do something before you are that old. At this rate, you’ll be a grandpa before she even knows you like her!”

Again, even if Eren didn’t like hearing it, Falco had a point. Time after time, he had perfect opportunities lined up to make his interest known. Plenty of them, practically handed to him on a silver platter. And what did he do? He blew them, each and every one.

Correction: He almost blew every chance. He still had tonight, before you would return to the reality of classes and part-time jobs that didn’t involve wiffle ball and craft time. 

The last car drove past the horizon and out of sight, officially signaling the end of summer camp—for everyone except the eight camp counselors remaining, the tents they’d brought from home, and the beer they’d kept stuffed under their bunks. Yes, everything had been locked tight, but earlier Sasha snagged some ice for drinks and whatever scraped-together leftovers she could manage, enough for one last feast around the fire. Outstretched before you was a wonderful and well-deserved, lazy evening, spent doing all the activities you wished you could have been doing for the last month.  

For you, that meant enjoying Stillwater Lake without the looming threat of having to rescue a kid from another vicious seaweed attack. Getting warm and drunk by nightfall, and rounding out your perfect day by sharing your sleeping bag with one person in particular. 

Connie stumbled upon a forgotten frisbee on the walk over. He tossed it high over your head, back and forth between Eren and Jean in the opening that gave way to the lake. You gathered along its edge, and it only took a few dipped toes and exclamations about the temperature (‘It’s like bathwater!’) before everyone had kicked off their shoes and socks to wade around in the water.

But that didn’t mean the day was all strolling and sniffing roses. While the water was as still as its namesake, your thoughts, your heart—you were anything but. Restless, if you had to name the feeling. Fueled off stolen glances along, each too long yet still longer than the last.

There was tension between you and Eren, the good kind. The hope for nothing to turn into something, and soon. It’d been there for weeks. The limited time you’d spent together only amplified the tension, dialing it up to a noticeable ten. And it wasn’t just Eren who couldn’t keep his eyes off you but everyone else, watching both you and Eren, the two idiots caught in the throes of it—whatever ‘it’ was.

You said that as though you were merely an innocent bystander, like everyone else had a severe case of the wandering eye but not you. If anything, you were the biggest offender. 

You knew you shouldn’t stare, but it was hard not to when all you could think about was Eren. Eren and the lake and how good he unfortunately looked while swimming in the lake. With eyes that matched the water, and shoulders that had baked all summer and turned brilliantly sun-kissed and freckled. 

He caught you, numerous times, but it wasn’t like you were trying to hide it. You wanted him to return your glances, and he always did. Welcoming each one and leaving you with more questions than you had the second before—what was he thinking?

So fucking pretty. 

Not exactly waxing poetic, if that was what you’d expected.

Yeah, he was lucky you couldn’t hear his thoughts. 

But thoughts would only have the two of you running in circles; they accomplished nothing. At some point, you’d need to actually act on them. You could only maybe later yourself so many times before there would be no ‘later.’ You had to accept the fact that there was no perfect time and the blatant staring and the way your palms started sweating whenever you thought about it for too long, like you were doing right now. 

When you finally approached Eren, it was after the sun looked like it had sunk into the lank. All day, it stayed hidden behind an overcast sky, until the very last moment, now, when the clouds decided to split. You had to squint to get a good look at him. 

“Hey.”

Your own voice surprised you. How embarrassing. You didn’t know why you were so nervous around him, like it had happened overnight—even faster than that. You thought you had control here, at least a semblance of it, but even that had dissolved. You stood before him on legs that felt nervy and numb, somehow at once, twiddling a bracelet between your hands that now felt incredibly silly.

“Hey,” Eren said back. His eyes shifted down to the bracelet, then back up to your face, and the corners of his mouth hitched into a smile. Well, there was no turning back now, was there?

“Hey—I mean,” you laughed a little, and it sounded painful. You loosened a breath before meeting his eyes. Cool like the turquoise string in the matching bracelet you had made him, yet there was a twinkle of warmth that you found intoxicating. “I was thinking, it’s not a real friendship bracelet if I don’t have anyone to match with.”

Eren’s closed-mouth smile grew to a real one, and so grew your confidence. Enough for you to add, “And I couldn’t catch Falco before he left, so I figured you would do.”

His eyebrows flicked up in amusement. “Oh, I see how it is. I’m the last resort, huh?”

“No, you’re my second choice. My last resort is Connie.”

“I won’t tell him you said that.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Now, are you going to accept my friendship or not?” 

“‘Course.” Eren gave you his hand, the wear and tear of camp evident along the grooves of his knuckles. “Except you have to tie it on for me.”

You did just that, looping the bracelet around his wrist and knotting the end a few times. From behind, you could hear Jean and Annie arguing over the most efficient way to start a fire. No one was paying you or Eren any mind, but just in case, you hushed your voice.

“You should come to my tent later,” you whispered, tilting your gaze up at him. “After everyone’s asleep.”

Eren’s smirk made the back of your neck hot. “Should I bring my sleeping bag?”

“No need. I’m happy to share.” 

That enthusiasm toward sharing died a little when Eren scared you later that night. Staffing had powered everything down for the season—and you meant everything. No lamps, nothing. Without the campfire, the night was pitch black. Eren had no choice but to shine his flashlight to find his way to you, lest he wished to trip over firewood.

The zipper squealed as Eren pulled back the corner of your tent. You sprang upright in alarm, heart thudding against your ribcage like it might burst. As more light poured inside, you finally made out his silhouette. 

“God, you scared me,” you exhaled with a hand clasped over your chest. 

The laugh that rattled through him had you doubting the sincerity of his, “Sorry,” and made it sound more like he’d done it on purpose. He ducked to crawl through the door before closing it again, sealing in the charred scent of citronella candles inside with him. 

“Come here already,” you said, scooting to make room for him beside you. 

You realized it was a tight squeeze for two—or rather, you realized how large he was when sitting inside your sorry excuse of a tent. It wasn’t nearly as spacious as you had anticipated when imagining inviting him in for a nightcap. 

That was okay, though. You didn’t need much room. As long as the both of you could fit, even semi-comfortably. . . 

You took his face into your hands and captured Eren’s lips in a kiss. Then another one. You kissed him again, and you kissed him with tongue, and he tasted like dessert. Like honey and cinnamon graham crackers from the s’mores you had toasted around the fire. You indulged for a moment, kissing him slowly, as if to pretend you had all the time in the world, and there wasn’t only thin nylon separating you from the great outdoors. 

You dragged him toward you, over top of you, as you collapsed back into the warm press of your sleeping bag where you once lay. From there, things escalated, fast. You had already been here before. 

Every touch was heavy with need and nowhere near as cautious as before. Your fingers weaved themselves into his hair, pulling him close. His hands wedged between your back and the ground, flattening your body to his, pulling you even closer. 

Eren nuzzled into the curve of your neck, inhaling the thickly sweet smell of bonfire in your hair, mixed with one that was uniquely you. He remembered the sounds you made when he kissed your neck, right there, in the dip beneath your jaw, and he needed to hear them again. His mouth was reckless, insatiable, like he didn’t want to savor you but eat you whole. 

You arched your neck, giving him the expanse of it to do with as he pleased. But what he was really after was still out of reach. He sat back just enough to throw your arms above your head and slipped off your shirt. He could hardly see you, made up of shadows from faint moonlight that cast through the tent, but he didn’t need to see to know you were bare below him. 

Eren ran a large hand down your chest, catching your nipple and squeezing your breast. You let out a whimper, but his lips were quick to smother the sound. His mouth was hot against yours, his tongue licking into your open and desperately willing mouth. It was messy yet intentional, had your skin prickling despite the accumulation of sweat on the nape of your neck. It left you chasing after him, never breaking the kiss once, as he rolled to your side. 

He propped himself onto his elbow to lean over you. His other hand ventured from your sternum to your stomach, his fingertips sparking little flames everywhere he touched.

Eren had to feel his way through the dark, focusing on how you’d tense and wiggle in anticipation, blind to every one of his unpredictable touches. He reached down between your legs to discover you wore only a pair of underwear to bed. He grinned into the kiss, knowing you most likely underdressed for the sticky nighttime air, but believing you had done it for his ease alone.

Your legs spread for his hand to nestle between. He cupped your clothed pussy, rubbing the lips with enough pressure to have your hips bearing down on his palm, aching for even more. 

“Your fingers. Please,” you murmured against his mouth, deliciously breathy. “I wanna feel them.”

Eren sat a bit higher. He tucked your panties into the crease of your thigh and traced your slit. You shuddered, awakening to the feeling of his fingers gliding along your wetness, collecting it, before pushing his middle finger inside of you. Your mouth fell ajar. You couldn’t kiss him any longer, only hopelessly pant into his mouth, breathing his air as he dragged his finger in and out of you. 

“How’s that?” Eren asked, his voice lower than you remembered and teeming with desire. “Feel good?”

You nodded even though he wouldn’t see it. “Yeah. Can—can you add another?”

Such a helpless plea. Fuck. 

Eren wished he could see you, like actually see you. He could hear you falling apart, the little huffs through your nose; he could even feel it, your insides clamping down on his finger—god, even thinking about it now, how tight you’d feel around his cock, had him reeling. 

When he pumped his middle finger back inside you, his ring finger accompanied it. Your muscles flexed then relaxed, with your head falling back into the pillow as the soft part of his palm began slapping against your touch-starved clit. 

The sound you made—something of a moan or some unintelligible curse—emboldened him. He felt the same need for your orgasm as he would his own, with the same burning intensity in his gut. He might have wanted it even more than you did. He was concentrated, and for this fleeting blip in time, he’d say you were the only two people in the world. With nothing around you except a choir of crickets chirping low in your ear; the sounds of night, of isolation. 

Eren rested his forehead against yours, staring into the pit of you through your pupils. You felt your mouth drop as he slipped his fingers from you. He brought them up to your clit, stroking you with a feather-light touch. 

“You like that, yeah?” he whispered. “You like it when I play with you like this?” 

Unlike his fingertips, his gaze was hot and heavy. It stole the breath from your lungs. 

“Uh-huh,” were the only syllables you could manage without choking. 

“C’mon, pretty,” Eren cooed. He tilted away, just to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Use your words.” He kissed your forehead next. “Tell me if you want me to make you come.” 

If the rising temperature in the tent didn’t already have you sweltering, then his words would have surely done the job. Heat rose to the apples of your cheeks, and he kissed those, too. 

“I want,” you said on a weepy gasp. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this turned on. You would say anything, if he asked. “I want you to make me come. Please, Eren.” 

The way you cried his name, so softly, so needily—it drove him crazy. But before he could do anything about it, he needed to get out of this damn shirt. 

Sticky with sweat, the fabric clung to his back uncomfortably. Eren pushed himself upright, sitting on his calves as he peeled his tee over his head. He tossed it aside with a sigh of relief. Not much relief, but at least he could feel the air against his flushed chest. He smoothed back a few rebellious strands of hair that stuck to his forehead before diving back into you. 

Eren kissed you again, not on the mouth this time but in the hollow between your collarbones. His lips skimmed down to the valley of your breasts, where he circled his tongue around one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth. He gave ample attention to both, going back and forth, flicking his tongue, sucking at them until they were perky enough for a pinch. 

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, biting your lip until you thought the skin might break, Eren went lower. He was below your navel, pawing over your hips and thighs, when he told you, “I want to return the favor.”

Immediately, your head darted up from the pillow to look at him. “Oh, you really don’t have to—”

“I want,” he said more firmly, kissing the spot where your hip met your thigh, “to return the favor.” Eyes fixed on you, Eren nosed at your clothed cunt. “Can I?”

How were you supposed to say no to that?

“Okay,” you quietly agreed, and it seemed to open the floodgates. Like the word had unleashed a swarm of fireflies within you, sparking in the deepest part of your stomach. Expectancy rushed through your body; it was nothing short of a thrill. 

Eren mouthed along your inner thighs, forging a pathway up between your legs. They were soft and giving beneath him. Plush skin molding around his fingertips as he pinned you into place, squirming more and more as he closed in on where you wanted him most. 

He was delicate as he took the seat of your underwear in his teeth and tucked them back against your thigh. You felt his breath on you first, the wet warmth of anticipation, then his tongue as it licked a stripe of heat through you. Your body jerked, heels digging into the tent floor in some meaningless attempt at grounding yourself.

Eren’s chuckle died on his tongue. You—everything about you, from your tent to your pillow and blanket, to the remnants of shampoo in your hair and the arousal dripping between your legs—was delicious, sweet. A welcomed reprieve after weeks upon weeks of living with boys. But as wonderful as you were, he felt himself growing desperate for more. 

“I want to see you,” Eren said against your skin, almost growling. You didn’t expect it, nor did you expect for him to straighten out and go digging around. You released the breath you’d been holding and perched yourself onto your elbows. 

You didn’t realize what he meant, or what he was looking for, until it hit you in the face: the beam from his flashlight, quickly smothered by your t-shirt. The navy blue fabric dimmed the light to a faint glow, but it was enough that you could see him, just a little, after your eyes adjusted. 

Confessedly, you stared for a minute. But he did, too. Your eyes fell over his shadowy form, the slight part to his lips, the subtle rise and fall of his chest. You savored the parts of him you’d only been able to steal glances at. And for that minute, you felt unhurried. You had more than an hour (and certainly more than seven minutes) to yourselves for the first time. 

But it was just that: a minute and nothing more. A mere sixty seconds before you became hyper aware of where you really were. You weren’t in your bedroom, safely hidden behind a locked door. Paper-thin nylon separated you from the others, and if you could see Eren, then how clearly could they see you, together? Had he effectively made the tent a beacon of light in the dark? You thought back to all the corny movies you’d seen—both lovers and ax murderers with their silhouettes projected onto tents like a shadow puppet show. 

“Wait,” you breathed. “What if they can see us?” 

You weren’t sure he heard you. He looked you over with darkened eyes, with a heaviness behind his gaze that you could feel. It was like a weight on your chest, keeping you there for him, heart thumping, in only a flimsy pair of underwear. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Eren said, so quietly that you didn’t think you were meant to hear it. He rubbed his palms from the tops of your thighs down, then back up again. “Let them see. I don’t even care.”

Your panties were soaked through, stuck to your inner thigh and begging to come off. Eren slid them over your hips and down your legs. You raised your feet, and there was a slight wobble to them as he pulled your underwear off your ankles.

You remained propped on your elbows, watching Eren’s every move with bright but hesitant eyes. He lowered himself down again, cupping your hips with his hands and thumbing over the bone reassuringly. He kissed so gently, everywhere he could, but paying the most attention to your pussy. Swollen and sensitive, each press of his lips tickled, burning like a seal of wax on an envelope. They left you gasping, wiggling around, spreading your legs for more; they soothed your apprehension, convinced you that fucking in this sweaty tent, in the middle of the forest, was the best idea you’d ever had. 

“Please—oh, god,” you whisper-whined. You needed his tongue back on you.

“What is it?” he playfully asked, knowing fully well what it was you wanted. “You want me to keep going?”

Eren lapped the flat of his tongue over you, slow and hot. You were puddy in his hands, malleable and pliant, and you knew it, too. You just didn’t have it in you to care. Maybe you even liked it. 

“Yes,” you moaned. “Keep going.”

Eren smirked. “What happened? You don’t care if they see us?” His hands curved beneath you, pushing on the backs of your thighs so they were up and out of his way. “See you like this, with your legs in the air for me?”

“No. No, I don’t fucking care,” you rushed out on a shaky breath.

That was enough for him to finally give into you. He closed his mouth over you, and instantly you were enveloped in heat. The softness of his lips, the deftness of his tongue as he licked you, over and over again, had you seeing stars behind your eyelids. 

One hand tangled itself in your pillow case, and your other shoved itself in Eren’s hair, tugging him a little to the left. The tip of his tongue flicked over your clit from that angle, and you felt yourself shiver and clench. 

“Right there, right there,” you softly chanted. “Just like that—fuck!” 

Eren ground his hips into the sleeping bag beneath him. It was pathetic of him, but he couldn’t restrain himself. You were, quite literally, the hottest thing he’d ever seen—and heard and felt and tasted, for what it was worth. And before he knew it, he had his hand shoved down the front of his shorts, groaning at the relief of his own hand. 

He was helpless to you. Helpless to the very notion that he finally had you like this, squirming in pleasure of his doing, the proof of it leaking over his tongue. Yes, you were the one unraveling right before him, crying out that you were about to come, but he was the one at your mercy. Tell him to jump, and he’d ask how high. Ask him to keep doing this, licking you to orgasm again and again, forever, and he would. 

Mounting pressure, not only from tonight but still lingering from every interruption, released itself in an eruption. It coursed through you, pulsing outward from your core and leaving toe-curling ripples in its wake. And all you could do was lie there and let it take you wholly. Hide your face in the bend of your elbow in hopes it would stifle your cries. It half-worked, resulting in a drawn-out whine, one you could feel against your face like steam. A soft sound for just the two of you to hear. 

Once it was over, after you’d let your arm flop to your side, Eren rolled off, just as spent as you. You each lay there on your backs, staring at the pitched ceiling, with the most erratic breaths tugging at your chests. 

You wiped a bead of sweat from your upper lip only to realize that was just the beginning of it: blots of perspiration that were no longer decorating your hairline but dripping down your forehead, down your neck, and between your breasts. 

“I think I need some air,” you said with a sheepish sort of laugh. 

Eren looked relieved when he turned to you. Coupled with his sweat-sheened shoulder, you could almost predict it when he said, “I’m so glad you said it first.” He pushed himself upright. “Me too.”

“We could go for a walk,” you offered, then a smile took hold of your face. “Or maybe a dip in the lake?” 

In truth, it wasn’t a bad idea. Eren even seemed to consider it, wearing this thoughtfully crooked expression before agreeing. 

He stayed in just his shorts, while you reluctantly put your clothes back on over your balmy skin. When you thought you were ready to leave, Eren caught you by the wrist.

“Hold on.” He pulled you into him, stealing a peck. 

You didn’t let it end there, though. You kissed him again, longer this time, winding yourself into him, not minding the rising temperature. It was a lapse in judgment when you thought, Fuck it. I don’t care if I pass out from the heat. I want him inside of me. But you didn’t get the chance to make the call before Eren had already begun unzipping the door, his lips leaving yours in a self-satisfied grin. 

You poked your head out to find nothing had changed since everyone turned in for the night. You breathed a bit easier knowing that, walked a bit lighter behind Eren as he illuminated the path with his flashlight. 

Outside the tent, the air wasn’t much cooler, but at least there was a breeze. Humid, but fresh. The layer of sweat on your skin prickled, turning tacky as it dried on your skin. You couldn’t wait to shed your clothes and plunge into the lake for a rinse. 

You walked in a comfortable silence, side-by-side. It was a quick jaunt to the lake, but far enough away that the huddle of tents was out of sight. No one would stumble upon the two of you unless they came looking—or, on the off chance, someone else wanted to take a late-night dive, too. But that seemed pretty unlikely. 

Considering you’d already bared everything for him, you didn’t give it a second thought as you tore your shirt over your head. Nor did you think about it before kicking off your sandals, peeling your shorts and underwear down your legs next. 

You toed through the sand and over to the water’s edge. When you didn’t hear Eren following behind, you spun around to see him right where you’d left him. As if you had inexplicably swapped roles over the last five minutes, he remained rooted in place, apprehensive, still in his shorts, while you stood naked in the moonlight. 

You took a few steps toward him. “What? Don’t tell me you’re nervous?” 

There was a teasing cadence to your tone. You sang the syllables. Ner-vous. 

Obviously, Eren was nervous. It was entirely your fault that he was crumbling on the spot. How could he not, with you naked, all giggles, bouncing around in front of him? For fuck’s sake, you were still bleary-eyed and moony from the orgasm he gave you—and not to mention, he could still taste you on the back of his tongue. 

He would never tell you any of this, but he didn’t need to. You seemed to know already, grinning ear-to-ear at him as if you could guess every thought as it crossed his mind. 

You leaned in on your tiptoes, and Eren noticeably braced, jumpy, like every one of his nerve endings had gone haywire. You floated him a quick kiss, luring him as he did with you. You walked backwards toward the lake, eyes trained on him, with that same ever-growing grin. 

It was quite the sight: you, seemingly without a care in the world, even if you should have a few—you know, like stepping on a sharp rock or tripping over a tangle of seaweed. Eren couldn’t help giving a gruff laugh as he shook his head. 

“You can’t get all shy on me now,” you called out as you stepped out onto the dock. You twirled around to overlook the lake. “Not after I had your dick in my mouth, and you just—”

“Okay, okay! I’m getting in,” Eren interrupted before you had to say it aloud. Ten seconds later, he met you at the end of the dock, naked, and you tried your best to keep your eyes straight ahead.

In a word, the view was serene. The night had water-colored the world in rich indigo; nothing went untouched except for the very crest of the water. It was almost crystalline, like the lake would shatter the moment you dove in. 

“Regretting your decision?” Eren asked. You hadn’t known him long, or that well, but you could tell he sounded more himself than he did a minute ago, with a certain cheekiness ringing through his voice. 

“Nope,” you said with faux confidence, even puffing your chest. “Just making sure you don’t chicken out on me first.”

Eren raised a brow. “What does that mean?” 

He got his answer in the form of you pushing him into the water. You’d like to think you surprised him with that, but realistically, he more than likely saw it coming and allowed for it, because how else would you have successfully knocked the guy over? You didn’t leave him hanging though; you weren’t that cruel. You jumped in after him, ensuring he wasn’t alone when he resurfaced. 

The lake’s temperature that was once, in your own words, like bathwater now felt more like a forgotten bath you’d let run cold. Perhaps some would call it refreshing, but you’d need more convincing. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a hug, gasping, “This was a much better idea in my head.” 

Eren barked a laugh, the real kind that came from his belly, and he shook some water from his hair. “At least we’re cooled off now, that’s for sure.” 

Unfazed by the frigid lake (probably because he was one of those ‘refreshing!’ people), Eren opened his arms for you. He had this inviting warmth about him, his hand doing that thing you discovered you liked, swirling circles against your lower back. That was the only convincing you needed to stay a while longer. Maybe, just maybe, you’d even say the water felt all right. 

You burrowed your face into the curve of his shoulder and kissed him there, simply because you couldn’t help yourself. Your mouth slipped and slid over his wet skin, and it pulled a raspy sound from him. His fingertips skirted up the side of your thigh to hitch your leg around his waist. He lifted you effortlessly, sealing your body against his. 

You felt light in the head and weightless in the water, so much so you even believed you’d float away if you weren’t careful. You locked your ankles around the small of Eren’s back, holding onto him like a seahorse does to coral. 

When Eren had imagined this moment—not the naked-in-the-lake thing but confessing—he thought it might feel debilitating. Like cracking his chest wide open to hand you his heart, essentially permitting you to do with it as you pleased. Admittedly dramatic, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here and felt like this. He didn’t want to risk losing it. 

But there was something underlying, unsaid, behind your gaze. Something Eren wasn’t sure he could name—if the words even existed—but disarmed him. That unique talent of yours. It had him casting aside the armor he’d collected over the years and handing you his sword. Like you were seeing him for the first time, and him you. Yes, you were naked with sopping-wet hair clinging to your face, but even after he smoothed the strands back, the vulnerability remained. 

On a hearted breath, Eren said, “I need to get something off my chest,” and it sent a rush through you, capturing your full attention. “Before someone pops out of the forest or lightning strikes, knowing our luck.” 

You glanced at the clear sky overhead. “If lightning strikes us tonight, then the universe must really not want us to get together.”

Eren chuckled. He unwrapped one of your arms from his neck and held up your hand. He ran his thumb over your bracelet and said, “As you’ve probably put together by now, Falco didn’t make this bracelet for you.” 

“I may have put it together,” you said, a little sweet, a little like a smart-ass. 

“And I was the one—am the one with a crush on you. Not because of this,” Eren gave you a once-over, referencing this and everything else you’d done together, “but before that. When I first saw you. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you since.”

Eren caressed your cheek, then cupped your chin. “I know I’m doing this backwards but. . .” He tilted your face either way, placing a kiss against each of your temples. “I want to take you out, actually spend some time with you and get to know you, when we’re back at school. I don’t want this to end here.”

Heat flared in your core and spread through you like wildfire. “I don’t want this to end here, either,” you whispered. You meant it too, even proved it by pressing your forehead to his assuringly. 

You could feel Eren’s smile when he went to kiss you, how it deepened after you started kissing him back. His large hand cradled the back of your head, holding you close even as you mumbled into his mouth, “You’re hard again.”

“Just ignore it.” 

Eren’s mouth sought yours again, but you lightly dodged him. He eased back enough that you could see his face more clearly, but you only focused on the desire hazing his eyes.

Just ignore it, he said, but his glossy eyes said otherwise.

Just ignore it, but it was difficult to do so when it was pressing against your inner thigh. When he could push inside of you right then, completely unhindered. With just a slight wiggle of your hips, a quick and easy thrust of his. 

“What if,” you whispered on a sharp breath, brows beginning to furrow like you might cry if he didn’t fuck you then, “I can’t.”

You felt his heartbeat drumming against your chest, just as he could undoubtedly feel yours. The sting of cold water, the thistly heat between your legs—each climbed up your spine and heightened your every sense, like live wires just beneath your skin. 

And when he kissed you, you swore no one had ever kissed you like that before. Rough and needy, yet slow, even sensual, as he tasted you—your tongue, your teeth. Your bottom lip as he gave it a harsh suck. It was the kind of kiss that stole your breath but replaced it too, filling you to your very brim. With nothing left in your lungs except for Eren’s breath. 

There was a moment you truly believed you might get high off him, as if it were even possible. You felt the world shift below you, turn you around, only to realize it was him walking you back toward shore.

You didn’t stop kissing until you reached the dock. Your back bumped up against it, and you parted from one another in a gasp. Eren lifted you by the underarms and placed you atop the edge. With hands planted on either side of you, he hoisted himself up next. Water splashed across your lap as he crawled over top of you, laying you back into the puddle he’d made. 

When the breeze hit you, all of you, your teeth started to chatter, half-shivering, half-burning as Eren caged you between his arms. Water beaded at the tip of his nose and dripped onto your cheek.

You giggled, as the situation rightfully called for, but there was a shakiness to your voice as you teased, “Are we about to fuck on an old dock?” 

“If that’s what you want,” Eren said, his lips giving way to a toothy smile. You nod, smiling too, and hooked your legs around his waist. “Then yes, we’re about to fuck on an old dock.” A shudder racked through him as your thighs tightened, and he lowered his mouth to yours. “So long as it doesn’t give out.”

It was the two of you, soaked to the bone, decorated in goosebumps and smelling of lake water. It was cold and dark and the last place on Earth you expected to be. It was a lot of things, but ‘romantic’ wasn’t one of them. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been romantic, but your heart skipped a beat just the same. 

It also just so happened to be very, very hot. 

“Condom?” you asked. Eren reached an arm over your head and snagged his shorts. From the pocket, he pulled out the foil and tore it open with his teeth. Before you knew it, he’d rolled it onto himself and mounted you again. 

His tip rubbed up and down your slit as he fixed himself comfortably above you. You snaked a hand down to guide his cock. Your fingers went slick with lube as you took hold of him, looking him in the eyes while he put it in. 

Eren’s hips tilted into yours, pushing in deeper, making room for himself. He was more patient than you’d imagined, letting you learn the stretch, the fullness. The weight of him inside you. 

You were flush together, his pelvis smushed against the backs of your thighs, and it sent a shiver pulsing through you. You both felt it and took a pause. You adjusted to the feel of him brushing against what felt like the bottom of your stomach, while he closed his eyes to collect himself—or else he’d finish before even getting started.

He took his time sliding out of you. He savored how your cunt squeezed each part of him on his way out. Even better was when he pumped back into you, how it made your back arch for him. You lifted from the dock, and he seized the opportunity to slip his hand beneath you. This time, when he thrust back inside, he pulled you down with him, onto him, making sure you really felt it. 

“Oh—oh!” you moaned. 

You threw your arms over his shoulders and buried your face in his chest. You rocked with him, meeting every snap of his hips, mewling a broken series of oh god, oh god. But you could hardly hear yourself—hardly hear Eren over the wild creaks from the wood below you as he groaned, “You feel—fucking amazing.” 

He breathed the words right above your ear with a voice like thunder, low and rumbly in your chest. It tickled every little hair, making them stand on end. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this—shit.” He hissed when you kicked your leg higher, helping him reach a new, better angle. “That you’re letting me fuck you right now.”

To have you there, below him, your arms and legs weaving into him like you’d never let go—he thought it must be a dream. 

You almost couldn’t believe it either. You trailed your clammy fingers down between your legs and felt where he split you, over and over and over. He felt so good when he was touching you, licking you—when he was fucking you. He was the only thing on your mind, yet the only response you could give him was a small sob as your head lolled back. 

Eren’s nose brushed your temple. He spoke against the side of your face as he warned, “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.” 

That being the way you held onto the base of his cock like you wanted to milk him into you. He even moaned when your grip firmed.

“You—fuck—you want me to come. Don’t you?” 

You did. You wanted to watch his eyes roll back, see how his face looked when it was screwed up in pleasure. You wanted his body to spasm above you, and you wanted to feel it and know you were its cause. You wanted him to feel half as good as he made you feel thirty minutes ago, devouring you within a thread of consciousness. 

“Please,” you begged. Eren fucked you harder. “I want you to—”

You cut out on an airless cry. The sound was replaced by the slap of skin-on-skin, wet because you hadn’t even tried to dry yourselves off. It was relentless, but it wasn’t his orgasm he was bullying toward. 

Eren could feel you around him, tensing and easing, throbbing like you had a second heartbeat in your pussy. He knew you were as close as he was. 

“I want you to come, too,” he told you, half-chuckling through gritted teeth. “But I need you to come first—to make up for lost time.”

The last thing you’d expected was to come like this. Usually, the feat required a bit more time, concentration—and rarely ran the risk of splinters.

But you were extremely sensitive from his tongue on you earlier. You came and all the blood had rushed between your legs, then it never really left. He’d let it simmer long enough until you were ready to boil over. Just hearing how hungry he was for it, to feel you come on his cock, had the feeling winding itself in your gut, quick and tight, only for you to unravel again right before his eyes. 

“I’m coming,” you whispered. Louder, more frantically, you panted, “Ohmygod, I’m coming. Don’t stop, Eren. Please.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Eren wanted to chuckle again, but he’d choke if he tried. His voice was strangled, all caught up in his throat. He thought he’d forgotten how to breathe when you plead his name—he’d never thought it could sound like that. 

“Say that again,” he gruffed. He was right there with you, staving off his climax but fucking you through yours, anyway. “Say my name again.”

“Ah—Eren,” you pushed out on your exhale, drawing out the last syllable impossibly long; the last breath before you fell limp and lazy in his hold. 

Eren let himself go then, finally. With a groan ripped from the back of his throat, his hips sputtered and lost their rhythm. His cock stuffed you full one final time, biceps quivering like he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. 

He breathed hard a few times; you counted the breaths. One, two, three, four—

“Holy fuck,” Eren cursed, muddled, his voice still thick. 

Holy fuck was right. 

Eren stared at you, and you at him. Neither of you had the ability to say what was on your mind, but you already knew what the other was thinking: Did that just happen? 

Yes, it did. And it might have been some of the best sex you’ve had in your life. Right on this dock. You would think to pinch yourself to double-check you were awake if not for the air nipping your skin as Eren got off of you. 

You straightened out to sit beside him. Keeping close, you welded yourself to his side. You snuck your arm beneath his, pressed your cheek into his arm. You held him like that until your breathing evened out, and you felt ready to look at him again. 

He had an easy look on his face; a soft, one-sided smile that made your insides turn to goo. He placed a hand on your thigh, warming the top of it with his palm. 

You didn’t know who would break the silence first: you, him, or some third thing he’d listed earlier, like a bolt of lightning. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”

You were surprised to hear yourself say it. Something that was supposed to stay a secret inside your head, yet slipped from you in a quiet confession. 

Eren laughed once. Just an amused huff through his nose. If you had any clue how long he’d been wanting this. . . 

He thought back to that day in your cabin, how exhilarating and nerve-racking and wonderful and awfully awkward it was. He leaned back like he was inspecting you, then rifled a hand through your hair. 

“How’s your head, by the way?” He asked, grinning widely. “You smacked it pretty hard on that bunk bed, you know.”

It teased a laugh from you. You playfully nudged him away, and he laughed harder than before. His shoulders shook with him but didn’t stop even after his laughter settled. 

“You’re freezing,” you commented. You were partially right, but it wasn’t just the cold. He was still vibrating from excitement, from his adrenaline. But that sweaty, sticky tent didn’t sound half bad right now, either. 

Eren nodded. “Let’s head back.” 

He stood with his hands out for you to take. You smiled up at him as you grabbed onto each one.

“So,” you said as you pulled yourself up, with a newfound spring in your step. “Where’s our first date going to be?” 

The corners of his lips crooked up. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

You hummed in thought as you walked the dock together. "What's your favorite kind of food?"

"Thai," Eren answered without missing a beat.

"Thai sounds good."

“Well, wait,” he hurried out like he’d been left out of a crucial decision. “What’s yours?”

You answered as you gathered the clothes you’d littered across the beach. You didn’t have the forethought to bring a towel (for obvious reasons), so you’d have to make do with soggy shorts and a t-shirt until you were back in your tent. 

You realized, while stepping into your underwear, that this was the first thing you knew about him: Eren liked Thai food. 

Actually, you knew where he liked to be kissed, and that he liked Thai food, but you didn’t know much else. You didn’t know his birthday or the town he grew up or even—

“Eren.”

He perked in attention. Already in his shorts, he waited on you to get dressed, trying to look anywhere but at you getting dressed. To see you with such a bemused expression out of nowhere worried him. 

“What’s your major?” you asked.

He gave a warm laugh that made you relax your shoulders, no matter how chilly you thought you were.

“Sports medicine,” Eren replied as he came in close. He looked at you with eyes you could get lost in, never veering off even as his hand wormed its way into yours.

You followed his touch, glancing down to see your fingers interlaced—the hands you had locked together, each adorned in white and turquoise.

“And I can tell you all about it at the restaurant of your choosing.”

thank you for reading <3

[tiramistupid]

Safekeeping

Your brother's best friend learns you don't want to leave for college a virgin, and he thinks he might be able to lend you a hand.

⟡ content: eren jaeger x female reader, college au, named older brother, virginity loss, slight corruption but soft af, explicit language, explicit sexual content, reader discretion advised. 18+ ⟡ word count: ~9k ⟡ rewritten and reposted for my new blog | read on ao3

Your plan was to move off to college at the end of the summer, finally. A three-hour drive from home, you found it to be the perfect distance; just far enough to give you that much-needed space, but close enough that an impromptu weekend visit was still within reason. You wouldn’t know a soul there, but that was what you were looking forward to the most, actually.

You never had the ‘fresh start’ that everyone loved to talk about. You know, the new beginnings that supposedly came along with every school year. You were always optimistic, but each time, without fail, your teachers would scowl when they saw your last name on their rosters. They all knew your older brother Collin—very well, unfortunately. 

His reputation preceded him as the punk who was in and out of the principal’s office. Detentions, extra burpees at football practice—even getting into a fender bender with his English teacher his senior year—made up his legacy. And you were just lucky enough to have the very same teacher last semester, learning the hard way that she had a tendency for holding grudges. 

But all that was beside the point. What you wanted to say was that you were ready for college. More than ready. Giddy and practically vibrating with excitement at the mere thought. Marking the days off your calendar until move-in week.

There was just one teensy little thing you hoped to get out of the way before your freshman year. But now that it was only a few weeks away—twenty-three days, to be precise—the whole idea became more like a pipe dream with each passing day. 

You kept having to remind yourself that there was no use in losing sleep over going to college as a virgin. There was no way you would be the only one.

Right? 

Your parents had left for their annual end-of-summer trip to visit your grandparents for a week. It used to be a mandatory family event, but now that your parents had deemed you and your brother old enough, you had more say in whether you tagged along. 

Collin skipped the last two summers, but now that you were eighteen, this was the first year you could stay home. You thought anything must be better than a week spent cooped up in your grandparents’ house, but what you didn’t expect was for Collin’s three best friends to join in, too—for the better half of the week, so far.

It had become a tradition, apparently, as they’d gotten together the last two years. Honestly, you were just impressed your brother was able to pull it off without your parents catching on, considering he was never the one to pick up after himself when you were kids. 

No matter, though; their presence hasn’t bothered you much. The three of them had been your brother’s friends since the sixth grade. Having them around was nothing new. Of course, it was more fun when you were younger—back when you could play Mario Party together and force Collin to sit out. Now, you didn’t have as much in common with them, if anything. 

So, the four boys did their thing, and you did yours. 

Even so, while you were off minding your own business, someone else just couldn’t seem to do the same. He couldn’t prevent his thoughts from wandering and his eyes from lingering longer than they should.

It wasn’t Armin, of course. He wouldn’t dare look at you that way, the girl he tutored in algebra all those years ago. It wasn’t Jean, either, hopelessly consumed by texting his class crush, determined as ever to win her affection.

No, it was Eren. Also known as ‘the cute one’ by you and your friends once he hit a growth spurt and grew out his hair in high school. Though Eren was unaware of the epithet, he’d finally return the sentiment, thinking of you as Collin’s very cute sister. 

It had been a couple of years since he’d last seen you, and you appeared to have… really grown into yourself, to put it delicately. 

Listen, the thought was harmless. It wasn’t as if Eren expected this to happen, and there was no way in hell he’d act on the feeling. You were his best friend’s sister—and not just that, but his little sister.

Eren thought he was playing cool, but man, did you have to make it so tough on him? Did you really need to lie out by your parents’ pool every single day? As a matter of fact, when was the last time it rained? That would help right about now, wouldn’t it?

Back to the point here: Eren was, in fact, not playing remotely cool. Armin brought this to his attention as they went off together to grab another beer. You happened to be in the kitchen too, just to grab a snack, and damn it, why did you have next to nothing on? Like, yeah, the place was a little warm tonight, and it was your house and all, but seriously? Tiny shorts rolled extra high on your waist; a tank top that looked extra clingy as you reached for a plate on the very top shelf? For real?

“You can’t be serious,” Armin grumbled. After you left, obviously. 

Eren should have known what he meant, but he was wholly convinced he’d been treading carefully this past week. “What do you—”

“You can’t bang Collin’s sister!”

Who even says ‘bang’ anymore?

“Whoa, hold on a second.” Eren held up his palms in innocence, waving them as if he could shake the wicked accusation. “That’s taking things a little far, isn’t it?”

Armin shot him a look. He knew better than to take Eren’s word at face value. “Well, it sure looks like you want to bang his sister.”

“Who’s trying to bang whose sister?”

Both Armin and Eren startled. Heads on a swivel, they turned to find Collin emerging from the basement, Jean trailing just behind with a suspicious, low-browed expression. 

“Oh,” Eren stammered. He had to come up with something quick; Armin was a notoriously awful liar. “Armin was just telling me about some porn he watched the other night.” Eren threw in a shrug. “You know, where the guy tries to bang someone’s sister.”

Armin glared at Eren for throwing him under the bus like that. He reluctantly went along with the lie for the sake of keeping the peace. “Yeah, and then he, uh… bangs the sister?”

Idiot.

Whatever. The lie seemed to work well enough. Collin stared back at them like they were no better than a couple of horny morons. Jean dismissed it, too, complaining, “Can we stop saying ‘bang’ now?”

With the crisis only half-averted—Eren would have to deal with Armin more later, he was sure—the four returned to the basement, freshly cracked cans of beer in tow, where they spent the rest of the night playing video games until they eventually passed out. 

Well, three of them did. 

Eren couldn’t sleep, but that wasn’t entirely surprising. Tossing and turning on a wobbly air mattress didn’t make sleep come any easier. With the basement only marginally cooler than the rest of the house, he figured a glass of water might help him reset. 

Unluckily (or perhaps luckily?) for Eren, he was interrupted on his way to the kitchen. The sight of you, simply existing, lounged on the couch, spooked him.

“Someone’s jumpy,” you giggled while he cursed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing here?” Eren asked.

“I live here, last time I checked.”

He made a face lacking the amusement your voice carried. “You know what I meant. Why are you still awake?” 

It was the first time you’d been alone together. Not the first ever, but the first time it felt different—since Eren had those thoughts about you. 

“Do I need a reason?” you airily replied, sort of on a yawn, as you stretched your arms. “It’s summer break, and I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

He didn’t offer more than a small nod of acknowledgment before moseying across the room, hands shoved in his pockets. Unsure of where this was going, you reached for the remote to pause your TV show. 

“Whatcha guys doing down there?”

“They’re all asleep,” Eren said. He stood idly because, like you, he found himself curious about what might happen next.

“And you’re not asleep because?”

No, he couldn’t think like that. Nothing would happen next; this was going nowhere. 

“I came to grab some water,” he rushed to say. Or, at least, you thought he sounded rushed. Before you could comment, he disappeared around the corner and into the kitchen. 

You listened for a moment, finger hovering above the pause button as you debated starting your show back up. But when the running faucet flicked off, Eren didn’t return to the basement in the apparent rush he was previously in. Instead, he stayed there, with you. 

Eren sipped his water as he mulled over what he should say. His mind was utterly blank. There was nothing to say, no reason he needed to have a conversation with you—what did you even have in common? And yet, there he was still, leaning up against the wall, dumbly scratching his midriff as he—

Wait. Were you checking him out? 

If there was one thing Eren learned in college—because let’s be real here, he had a nasty habit of skipping lectures—it was that he did pretty well for himself when it came to girls. Decent enough, he’d say. He at least had enough sense to know when a chick was interested in him. 

And now that you creaked that door open, ogled where his hand lifted his shirt and revealed his stomach, he felt he had no choice but to step inside and explore around. Just a bit.

Armin’s warning blared in the back of Eren’s head—after years and years of friendship, his conscience tended to have Armin’s voice—but there wasn’t anything wrong with casual conversation, was there? 

“So, are you excited to leave for college soon?”

There was no turning back now. 

You perked up in your seat. “Yeah, for sure. It’ll be nice to be somewhere new. Meet new people, make new friends—”

“Maybe you’ll finally find your Fabio.”

There was a joke there, unfortunately. One you hadn’t heard in so long that you physically cringed at the memory.

As Collin’s younger sister, his friends were first-hand witnesses to your boy crazy phase and all the dating flops that came along with it. Perhaps they even picked up that you were quite the hopeless romantic. And by that, you meant Jean had found a smutty novel you’d stolen from your mom. Yes, it even had that signature Fabio-esque cover, hence the joke. Anyway, he read the book aloud in front of your brother and the rest of their friends until Armin snatched it from him, which somehow made the whole ordeal even worse.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” you offhandedly chuckled, trying to mask the twinge of embarrassment you felt. “I was sort of hoping that would happen before college. But, you know—I’m sure plenty of people go to college inexperienced.

Your voice trailed off there at the end, almost like the notion bothered you more deeply than you wanted to let on. Eren scrutinized what you’d said, and it felt like a conversational game of hot potato. Why were you bringing this up, and what did you want him to do? Were you looking for advice?

Eren set down his glass and moved to join you on the couch, on the far side. “Is that what you’re worried about?” 

“No,” you blurted. You kicked yourself for having said anything in the first place. Your abruptness sounded just as bad, so with a sigh, you confessed, “I mean, I guess. I don’t want people to think I’m a loser for being a virgin.”

Again, why were you telling him this? Eren felt like he was playing with fire, and you had not the slightest clue. He knew the longer he stayed, the more likely he was to end up burned. Maybe even scorching everything around him, even you, in the process. 

Still, he poked at it. He added some kindling because there was a desperate part of him that was unwilling to let the fire snuff out. “I think there’s a fairly simple solution to that.”

“What, getting laid? I think I know that,” you scoffed. “And it’s easy for you to say that, looking like,” lacking the words, you loosely gestured a hand at him, “you. Believe it or not, I don’t exactly have suitors lining up outside my door.”

Okay, so he was right. He was picking up on something between you. You found him attractive, and he found you attractive. The answer was easy enough; he might as well go on and say it outright then.

“What if I did it?” 

You didn’t know what Eren meant. His casualness threw you for a loop. He couldn’t be talking about that, could he? 

“You know,” he said, “took your virginity.”

There was no misunderstanding now—but the crazy thing was, why were you actually considering it? 

Your brother’s friends, Eren included, had taught you all sorts of things before. Things they probably shouldn’t have, but ultimately came with having an older brother around. They told you to flush the toilet to mask your squeaky front door when you snuck out at night. Taught you how to roll a joint, and how to take a proper hit after you confessed you’d never ‘felt high’ when you smoked. So, would this really be any different?

While you considered his proposition, Eren took the far-away look behind your eyes as a horrible sign. He realized how insane he sounded, offering such a thing. Before he could take it back, blame it on the one too many beers, that’s all, you piped up. 

“Really?”

He certainly didn’t expect that. “I—yeah. Why not?”

Another lengthy pause passed before you accused, “Are you just fucking with me? Because it’s not funny.”

“No—no! I wouldn’t.” Eren started rambling, a jumbled mix of ‘I just’ and ‘I shouldn’t have’ until you decidedly cut him off before he could talk himself into a hole.

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“I said okay. You can… take my virginity.” You felt strange saying it out loud, to Eren, of all people. Who would have guessed?

Then again, maybe this was the most logical outcome. You never wanted to make a big deal of losing your virginity, and you certainly weren’t looking for something romantic, with rose petals or a waterbed or any of that corny-porny crap. You simply viewed your virginity as an obstacle to get past. That way, when you inevitably meet the love of your life in college (okay, so maybe you were a hopeless romantic), you wouldn’t humiliate yourself the first time you hooked up. 

“Okay,” Eren replied on a sharp inhale, a breath sucked through his teeth, like the word was a sin to say aloud. 

He scooted closer, settling on the couch that once separated you. You expected him to kiss you then, and you leaned into him with closed eyes. Your lips barely brushed his before he stalled, not coming any closer than that. 

He asked you, “Do you trust me?”

You nodded, and your noses bumped. 

“I need to hear it.”

“I trust you,” you said, even quieter than him. You could barely hear yourself over the sound of your heart, thumping so hard you swore it might burst into your throat. 

Eren finally kissed you, tentatively, with his hand cradling the side of your face. He didn’t move until you did, and when you returned the kiss, he followed and let you take the lead.

The kiss was cut short when the basement door squeaked open. You jumped away from one another, back to the opposite sides of the couch. The panic quickly subsided when you caught a glimpse of the family cat’s bright eyes, her little head poking out from the shadows.

You clutched a hand to your chest, trying to steady your breath and your racing heart as if both were possible right now. When you met Eren’s gaze again, he was already staring back at you with a brittle look. You couldn’t guess what he was thinking. Did he regret what he’d just done? You didn’t, and you prayed he didn’t either. 

Before you had the chance to ask, he finally said, “Should we go to your bedroom?” 

“Good idea.”

Eren knew where your room was, but he still followed right behind you. At the top of the staircase, just before your bedroom door, you split. You turned to see Eren sneaking into Collin’s room. An anxious minute passed while you listened to rustling, and when he returned, he held that infamous, shiny foil between his two fingers. 

You grimaced, hard. “I’m not going to use one of my brother’s condoms.”

“Do you have one then?” Eren asked, already well aware of your answer.

“Fine.”

Eren had never been in your bedroom before. It felt foreign and, weirdly, wrong to have him there. He looked out of place, too big, too mature, especially compared to all your girlish knick-knacks and old photos. You wished you could have tucked everything away into some lonely drawer. 

You avoided Eren’s eyes and fixed your attention on adjusting the lights. Your bright ceiling light was far too unforgiving for this, so you switched it out for your bedside lamp. The drone of the old bulb buzzed in the back of your ears, its light a fizzy yellow glow. 

You were nervous. Eren didn’t need to see your face to know; he could feel it as you skittered around the room like a cornered mouse. He expected as much, considering this was about to be your first time having sex.

Eren felt his heart drop into his stomach, like that sick feeling you get on a rollercoaster, yet somehow you always want to ride again. Maybe he was just as nervous as you. You had to put your trust in him, enough to take your virginity on a whim. Handing it over to him as if it were some sentimental treasure he could watch over, for safekeeping.

Sure, he knew the optics were bad. Not just bad but downright horrendous, actually. He was about to sleep with his best friend’s little sister. Not just sleep with her, but be the first person to sleep with her, ever, while everyone was asleep downstairs. The situation sounded like a second-rate porno, like the one he had made up with Armin in the kitchen.

This was as much a blessing straight from heaven as it was a curse. But Eren couldn’t bother with optics now. Not after you took a seat on the bed, looking at him with these come-and-get-me eyes that may or may not have been intentional. 

No, this wasn’t a curse at all. If it were so wrong of him, then why did it feel so right? His cock already strained against his sweatpants at the mere thought of how delicate he’d be with you tonight. He needed to be. The last thing he wanted was to ruin your first time. He’d be the first to show you what pleasure could be with another person—what you were truly deserving of before going off and letting other boys touch you. 

He set the condom on the nightstand and sat on the edge of your bed beside you, his knee grazing yours. He was about to ask if he could kiss you again, but you entirely side-skipped any and all conversation, picking right back up from where the two of you had left off. 

Again, Eren relinquished control to you, except he was the one to take the initiative to swipe his tongue into your mouth. You tasted him and the bittersweet flavor of light beer. He was nothing like the last boy you kissed. He didn’t ram his tongue down your throat but kissed you like he wanted to muse over and memorize you. You let him, of course, lips languidly caressing one another with little point or purpose, solely running on instinct. 

You balled his shirt in your first, twisted the fabric between your hands to pull him close. Closer. With hands at your waist, he hoisted you onto his lap, and you went along with him more than willingly. You draped your arms over his shoulders, crossing them at the wrist, and you didn’t let your lips break from his even once. 

Eren smoothed his palms up and down the small of your back until he eventually garnered the courage to venture lower. He pawed at your ass, pulling you down to grind over him. Just once. Just to give you a hint of how achingly hard he was for you. After that, you did it again all on your own. Lightheaded and teeming with desire, the pressure against you, even through layers of clothing, was an addicting relief. You moved against him, again and again, until you were dragging yourself over him, practically about to get off from that alone. 

But Eren didn’t let that happen. Before you could get there, Eren gripped your hips to a halt. His voice was a mumble against your mouth as he asked, “How far have you gone?”

“This,” you professed breathlessly. “This is the farthest I’ve gone.”

Fuck.

He said the word of the night:

“Okay.” 

He breathed it out as if he were talking to himself. The type of sigh you’d give yourself in the mirror when you needed to calm down—which was precisely his goal. 

Eren lifted you with little effort, had you lie back on the pillows before he crawled atop you. He kissed at your jawline, then placed another on the side of your neck. He stayed there, left a few kisses, all lip, all wispy, like he thought he might break you. Gentle or not, still you felt each of them like an electric spark at the base of your spine. 

His fingers trailed over your collarbone before stopping short of your tank top.

“Is it all right if I touch you here,” he asked, punctuating it by toying with the neckline. 

“Yes,” you whispered.

With your confirmation, his hand massaged over your breast, thumb caressing over your nipple through the thin fabric. 

He began kissing you again, his tongue meeting yours while he rolled your nipple between his fingers. Your back arched instinctively, needing more. He listened to your body, learning as he went, and tugged down your top. He lightly pinched your nipple, pulling a whine from you.

“Can I kiss you there,” he murmured, referencing your tits as he gave another squeeze. Before you could answer, he started mouthing at your throat. 

“Mhm,” was all you managed. Your voice was long gone, lost somewhere between the open-mouth kisses he left along the dip between your breasts. 

It tickled a bit when he flicked his tongue over your nipple. Even more when he latched onto it with his lips. Your helpless wiggling beneath him drove him wild, and you hadn’t the slightest idea. He found it sweet how sensitive you were, his mouth being the first to kiss you there and learn the taste of your skin. So soft. And warm, too, heating up the longer he sucked at your tits, anywhere he pleased. 

Eren kept one hand at your waist, palming over your stomach but never risking any lower than that. Though his touch was heated and urgent, he only showed restraint. 

He pulled back to ask, “Have you ever touched yourself before?”

He was strangely calm for asking such a personal question. Face ablaze, you huffed, “Of course I have.”

What did he think? That because you were a virgin, you never thought about sex? Hadn’t even seen porn? Yes, you hadn’t actually done it, but you weren’t exactly heading into the situation blind. 

“Then—” The sight of you slipping out of your sleep shorts interrupted him. You caught the bob of his throat when he swallowed, but you weren’t sure he was trying to hide it. “Show me how you do it.”

Eren sat back on his knees, just shy of sitting between your legs as you rested back against the pillows. You hoped he didn’t notice your jittery fingers as you slid them beneath the band of your underwear. 

You began whining, “This is—”

“It’s not embarrassing,” he interjected, which only made you more nervous. Could he read your mind or something? 

But he was genuine, assuring you even while struggling to maintain eye contact. His attention flitted from your face to between your legs, where your flimsy panties separated you from him. 

“Show me how I can make you come,” he said. 

How on earth could he be so open about this? There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in his voice, not an ounce of shame. You wondered how many people he’d been with, how many times he’d rehearsed before he could speak with such confidence. Enough confidence to have you listening like a loyal puppy and plunging your hand beneath your underwear. 

You had the pads of your fingers pressed against your clit and began rubbing. Slowly at first, but already, that smidgen of relief was enough to pull a gasp from you. You were sensitive, throbbing, and so incredibly turned on that you didn’t shy away from his unabashed staring, eyes blown with pure infatuation. 

Eren rested a hand on your thigh before reaching for your panties. “Can I take these off?”

You stopped only to help him work them down your legs. Shimmying until he had them thrown to the foot of the bed. You were hesitant to spread your legs again, but he did it for you, placing one at either side of him. He took your hand into his and returned it to your pussy, eager for you to continue. So you did just that.

There wasn’t any doubt he could see everything now—how wet you were, how it coated your fingers as the circles you rubbed became tighter. Your head was in the clouds, playing with yourself just as indecently as you would if no one were watching. You couldn’t even bother to stifle the chant of gasps spilling from you. 

“Can you put a finger inside for me?” Eren requested. 

You didn’t think twice. You nodded and pushed your index finger inside before slipping it out again. With each pump, your muscles relaxed, letting you take more than before. 

“Yeah, like that,” he whispered. You heard the ‘fuck’ he cursed under his breath. “How’s that feel?”

Your eyes fluttered shut. “Good.”

“Try a little faster.”

You did, then bit back a whimper. 

“Add another.”

He needed you stretched. He needed you ready for him.

You took your second finger well; you’d done it before. 

“You’re doing so good,” he told you. He leaned in closer than before. “Can I help you now?”

“Please,” you breathed. 

But he didn’t touch you where you’d expected. At least, not at first. He held his fingers before your mouth. 

“Open up.”

You weren’t sure what he was after, but you obeyed, feeling lusty enough that you found yourself trusting him implicitly. He placed his middle and index fingers against your tongue, telling you, “Get them nice and wet for me.”

You sucked on them lightly. Saliva pooled on the back of your tongue as he pressed down. He pulled them from your mouth with a lewd sound and smiled at you. Something about it made your chest swell a bit. 

Eren moved to sit at your side. His presence felt engulfing as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you close. The intimacy of it surprised you, but you didn’t have any time for second-guessing before he urged, “Keep going.”

You returned to circling your clit as his hand met yours. He traced a finger through you, and it set every nerve in your body aflame. 

“Can I?”

“Yes,” you said, practically moaned. 

He took his time as he pushed his finger inside you. It was much larger than your own, thicker, reaching deeper than yours had ever gone. Your stomach tightened as your body tried to adjust. 

“That okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” It was better than okay. “More. Please.”

The laugh Eren gave through his nose was warm. He moved his finger in and out of you, curving it just right to have you squirming in his arms. You understood now why he held you so tightly. He wanted to keep you still so that once he figured out what you liked, he could maintain his pace through your needy bucking. 

Eren had a hand on the back of your head, petting your hair as he asked, “You close?” He’d gone ahead and added a second finger, and you couldn’t answer outside of a rapt hiss. “Yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you panted against him. His body was dizzyingly hot, even through his t-shirt. 

It was becoming quite the task to keep your fingers moving, what with Eren’s hitting a spot you didn’t even know existed before today. It had you—fuck, it had you coming. So hard that you thoughtlessly rode his hand, eyes screwed shut as you fucked yourself on his fingers, prolonging the bliss for however long you could before turning to goo in his arms. 

Your chest heaved, body still twitchy, when he started asking, “Did you—”

“Yes,” you said on a drawn-out exhale.

Eren pecked your forehead. You could still feel the stamp of it as he maneuvered on top. He held himself above you, kissing you full on the mouth. Still hazy, you didn’t move much, letting him make out with you all he wanted until his lips traveled down to the dip behind your ear, then to the delicate crook of your neck. 

He bunched your tank top higher up your chest until you both tore it over your head. With that out of his way, Eren continued kissing lower—even lower than before. His breath tickled over your nipples, leaving you a needy, rutting mess. For what exactly, you didn’t know. Just more. 

“Too much?” Eren asked, looking up at you with his big green eyes.

“No,” you assured, mouth agape, in awe of him. “I like it.”

He pressed his smile against your skin, kissing and licking his way down your sternum.

When he reached your navel, you asked, “What are you—”

“Making sure you’re ready.” He kissed your hipbone.

“It’s really okay,” you said, slightly wary. “We should just get this over with, right?” 

“What if I don’t want to get this over with?” Eren kissed just above your pussy. “What if I want to take my time?”

He wanted you as comfortable, as relaxed, as possible. And since he was already about to fuck his friend’s little sister—with one of his condoms, for fuck’s sake—Eren certainly wasn’t about to go digging for his lube next. Thankfully, there was another, more fun way he could ensure you were wet enough to avoid any unnecessary pain that may arise from him splitting you with his—

Focus.

“I need you to tell me what feels good and what doesn’t,” Eren said, a grounding reminder more for himself than for you.

You yelped, almost choked, when he kissed the top of your thigh, then the inner part of it. 

“Can you do that for me?”

“Eren, I—”

“Please.” He licked a broad stripe up the crease of your thigh. A tiny ‘oh’ escaped you. He wanted to taste you already, he was begging for it. “Let me. I want to.”

“You do?” you timidly asked.

“So fucking badly,” he replied, but it sounded more like an admission. A white flag of surrender, like he was letting himself fully indulge in his desires because, yes, he had thought about this before. There was no use in lying about it now.

“O-okay.”

On that, he returned to teasing his way between your legs, kissing from the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs to—

“Wait!”

Eren immediately looked up at you like he’d done something wrong, but his worries were immediately quelled when you asked, “Can you get undressed, too? Like, at least your shirt.”

Eren smirked a little. He sat back to peel off his shirt. “Better?”

You scanned over his toned torso, sun-kissed from a long summer. Definitely better.

“Thanks.”

He leaned over you, his mouth inched from your cunt as he murmured, “It’ll feel good.” He kissed you there, and the sensation jolted through your body like lightning. “Promise.”

Eren parted you with his fingers before licking through you, letting the newfound sensation sink in deep. His tongue was warm, wet, and exceedingly gentle—nothing like his fingers or even your own. You couldn’t begin to describe it, but that might be because with the second lap of his tongue, you began losing any sense of coherency.

You made a few strained sounds, flowery and pathetic, but supported yourself on trembling elbows to watch. When you met Eren’s gaze, he only stopped licking at you to say, “Tell me what feels good.”

“Everything.” The word tumbled out of your mouth desperately. “Everything feels good.”

You felt his laugh as he closed his mouth over you. He continued having his way with you, sucking and licking, saliva and slick making a mess of his pretty face as he staggered kisses between flicks of his tongue.

Whenever his lips brushed against your clit, your legs would flex tight. Eren hooked his arms around them, laying them over his strong shoulders. You felt how his fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, locking them into place while he suctioned his lips around your clit with more pressure than before.

“Ah—oh,” you moaned. Your back left the bed to press your pussy against his face, as if you could possibly have him any closer. 

That would happen once he was finally inside you. But that would come soon enough. 

Eren didn’t ask this time; he knew exactly how he was making you feel. Which you were thankful for because you couldn’t dream of him stopping, not now. You needed more, lacing a hand through his locks and giving tugs of encouragement. He groaned against you, clearly liking it, so you pulled again. 

He was sloppy with it while remaining… thoughtful? That didn’t feel like the right word, but even as he made out with the most intimate part of you, he did so with intention, doing that thing again, whatever it was, with his tongue pointed, because he already learned you liked it. He showed you that you liked it. Loved it, actually, evidenced by the breathless sounds you made. 

And when Eren paired his tongue with his sucking lips, you came with your hand clamped over your mouth. Your entire body gained a pulse of its own. This orgasm was much stronger than your first, and longer-lasting, too. The muscles of your stomach wound tight, then released while you rode out your high, with Eren groaning against you just as pleased. 

Once you were no longer propped on your elbows but flopped against the bed did Eren let up. Your thighs were still shaking as he kissed a pathway back to your side.

You began questioning how you were supposed to go for another round. You hadn’t even reached the main event yet. To be completely honest, you expected Eren to throw you on your bed, pop your metaphorical cherry, and be done with it. But now you’d already come twice, and he still had his sweatpants on. 

You should probably do something about that, shouldn’t you?

“I wanna touch you, too.”

While innocent, it was the most you had communicated with Eren this far, so he wasn’t going to stop you from reaching for him. He was more than ready. 

You explored him a bit over his sweats, tracing over his length and discovering what touches made him twitch, still as chaste as ever.

“Show me,” you purred. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to do—a hand job was far from rocket science. You just felt that if you had to show him yours, then you wanted to see his. You wanted to watch. 

Eren tugged his sweatpants and boxers down his legs. His cock sprang out and nearly slapped the low part of his abs. Already, his tip was wetted, needy for anything after going untouched this long, even if it was his own hand. 

He wrapped his fingers around his shaft, working his fist over his cock, faster, until he was jerking himself off for you. His breath, fanning just above your head, went from steady to ragged, his chest tight. 

Already desperate to touch him, you pushed yourself upright, perched with your knees brushed against his thigh. Ready to take him with both hands. 

“Hold on.”

Eren fidgeted as though he was about to say something but decided to hold his tongue. He looked hesitant—sounded even more hesitant when he asked, “Can you,” he sighed, “Can you spit in your hand first?” 

“Oh, um.” You looked down at your open palm and tried your best to collect some saliva in your mouth. It was a little daunting, knowing he was watching as you spat into your hand, but he didn’t seem to mind.

No, he definitely didn’t mind. But he wouldn’t admit that to you right now.

You took him in your hand and mimicked the way he did it: with a loose wrist and your grasp slightly firm. When you squeezed over his tip, you heard the sharp inhale it pulled from him, noting how his pelvis flexed. Eren’s hand closed over yours; he was going to show you exactly how he liked it. 

Eren moved your hand for you, gripping it tighter whenever you reached the head of his cock. His pitched breaths turned into groans, brows hanging low over his keen eyes. He started thrusting, fucking your hand, and nearly forgot where he was—forgot whose hand he was using like his own personal toy. 

“Spit on it,” he grunted, that consciously temperate side of him shaking free of its restraints. 

He didn’t intend to come across so crass, not in front of you, and certainly not this soon. It was just that Eren couldn’t remember the last time he came from a hand job, but he was nearly there, with your hands so dainty and velvety around him. Not to mention the spit dribbling from your pretty lips before you spread it over the length of his cock. He was about to lose his last semblance of composure. 

But he had a much bigger agenda than fucking your hand. 

“That’s—ah, shit.” Selfishly, Eren waited another second before releasing your hand. You continued stroking him eagerly, and it felt wrong to stop you, but he did just that with a hand around your forearm. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep going.”

“Sorry,” you said, hands now politely to yourself and folded in your lap.

With a short huff of a laugh, Eren told you, “You do not have to apologize for that. Believe me.”

His chuckle had you smiling again. That closed-mouth, coy smile that he was quickly learning might become the death of him. He straightened out, taking your chin between his fingers so he could kiss you again.

“Lie back for me,” Eren whispered. 

You fell into the mess of pillows and tangled sheets below you, making yourself comfortable while Eren fetched the condom. You didn’t know what the feeling was—trepidation, anticipation, excitement, perhaps all three—but it bubbled in your stomach as you watched him tear open the wrapper before rolling on the latex. 

Eren pumped himself a few times with his hand as he reminded, “We can stop at any time if you need.”

Eyes wide and fixed on him—specifically on his cock, which he’d soon gape you on—you asked, “Do we need a safe word?”

Eren laughed, but only because you were so agonizingly cute about it. “I think ‘stop’ will work just fine.”

You did that smile again, and it yanked the knot in his stomach tighter than he even thought possible. Eren was so close to snapping—no, that wasn’t the right word for it. More like coming undone. Turning into a puddle of himself. Finishing humiliatingly early. That sort of snapping. He didn’t know what had him feeling this way, but there was something about you that made him feel like the virgin here. 

Eren didn’t dare push inside yet, not only for your sake but for his. His eyes, now brazen and alert, scanned over you in a silent check-in. When you gave him the go-ahead, nothing more than a bobble of your head, slowly, he tilted his hips into yours. 

With you unbelievably tight around him, he stalled with only his tip inside you. Even so, his breath had already hitched in his throat. He couldn’t hold back; he simply couldn’t. When he gave you a little more, between his eyes flitting shut, he caught the scrunch of your nose. 

“How are you doing?” Eren asked. 

There was a stretch, a certain fullness you’d never felt before. It didn’t necessarily hurt, but it didn’t exactly feel like he belonged there, either. 

“I’m—” You glanced down to where your bodies connected. It was considerate of him to take his time with you, to prep you with his fingers and tongue, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference, and his cock wasn’t even halfway inside of you. Your nails dug deep into his biceps. “Okay.”

It didn’t appear like he believed you, which was a fair assessment as your statement was shaky at best. “Is it too much?”

“A little,” you sheepishly admitted. 

Eren pulled out, and even that made you wince. Your shoulders dropped back to the mattress, every muscle in your body easing up now that he wasn’t bullying inside you.

“Here.” Eren rolled onto his back. He guided you on top of him, set you so your knees straddled his waist, his cock resting between your legs. Somehow, it looked even bigger like this, laid upon his abs. “Let’s try it like this.” 

Like this? It felt incredibly vulnerable from up here, where he could see you in all your glory, bouncy above him. Plus, you hardly knew what you were doing—you’d just given your first hand job! You kind of thought you’d just lie there and take it from him, and now he was expecting you to ride him? The thought was intimidating, to say the least, even if Eren tried to assure you it wasn’t. 

“You have total control this way.”

That was the exact thing you feared. You didn’t want any control. What if you did something wrong? 

Apparently, you didn’t do a great job at masking your worry. Eren took your hips between his hands, thumbing softly and encouragingly against your skin. The entire point of this was to trust him. That was why you were losing your V-card to Eren, someone who wouldn’t make fun of you. That way, when it really mattered, you wouldn’t royally screw up. After getting this far, there was no chance in hell you would end the night a virgin. Well, half-virgin. 

Ready to try again, you drew a deep breath. You lifted yourself to your knees and before you reached for him, like the new sexpert that you were, you spat in your hand and didn’t mind Eren’s gaze this time. You stroked over the condom, mixing your saliva with the lube, then lined his cock up with you.

Carefully, you sat down. He only reached as deep as before, but the pressure was nowhere near what it once was. You rolled your hips, testing different angles to see what worked best and how you could get more of him (hopefully all of him) inside you.

Eren curved a hand around the nape of your neck. “Come here.”

He brought you in for a kiss—more than a kiss. His tongue licked into your mouth the second your lips crashed against his, tasting every one of your contented little hums. 

He snaked a hand between your legs, rubbing his thumb against your clit. Soon enough, your lips could no longer match his fervency, and it was more like you were moaning right into his mouth, sharing each of his breaths until you felt dizzy. Eren melted you from the inside out, softening you up like butter until you were flush against him—as easy as that. You started rocking your hips cautiously. 

“That’s it,” Eren murmured into the corner of your mouth.

With gelatin-like arms, you held yourself up with palms pressed against his chest. Perched only slightly proudly atop him, the tip of his cock hit deeper than anything else had before. The sensation had stolen your breath, and you almost swore you could feel him in your throat. 

Eren admired the adorable ‘o’ your mouth made as you began moving more. As though a switch had flipped, you were suddenly rolling your hips against him—slowly, of course—repeatedly having him hit that delicious spot, greedily chasing after your third orgasm. 

“You’re doing so good, taking me well for—for your first time.”

Shit. Eren nearly forgot he was taking your virginity. 

He hoped you didn’t notice how his voice gave way there at the end, or how his cock jolted when he realized he was the first to have you like this. He was the first to fill you, stretch you, mold you to accommodate him. Only him. 

“Do what feels good for you, baby.”

The pet name escaped him before he could wrangle himself back, but you didn’t seem to catch it—or if you had, at least you didn’t mind. 

No, you were too busy to hear him, more occupied with using his cock to get a feel for what you liked best. And Eren let you, because what else was he supposed to do? Stop you? Fuck, no. He would let you continue forever if you desired it. So long as you continued gifting him with such lovely expressions. The sweet curl of your lip, the knitting of your determined brows as your thighs had surely started burning by now. 

But, man, it was a challenge to stay there and let you have your way with him. You could only keep your pace for a moment or two before needing a break—teasing him, and you didn’t even know it. Though he had to admit, it was endearing to see you all tuckered out from everything that came before this. All Eren wanted to do was dig his heels into your bed, pound away at that tight pussy of yours, and show you just how wonderful he could make you feel.

It was a true test of strength for him, whether he could hold back, because you finally looked like you were enjoying yourself on his cock. You took him with short strokes, a simple tilt of your hips back and forth, once you realized you could grind your clit against his pelvis. 

Eren could tell you were close, from the way you fluttered around him to the moans getting caught in your throat. 

“Just like that. Keep going. Make yourself come for me.”

There was a growl in his voice; just the sound of it pushed you closer to the edge. You shoved a hand between your legs and tossed your head back. As you started to cry out, Eren placed a sticky palm against your mouth. He shushed dotingly, wearing a grin as he cooed, “Can’t let them hear us now, can we?” 

He felt your heady breath as you panted, trying to reach your peak. Once you were entirely spent, hips sputtering, he couldn’t help but beam up at you. Slack-jawed smile and all, he asked,  “Need some help?”

Too overwhelmed, you couldn’t even nod your head. You babbled a bit uselessly.

“Want me to fuck you, just a little? Get you coming on my cock?” 

“Yes, please,” you breathed. When Eren started moving, thrusting into you ever so slightly, you already scratched your nails down his chest. It was no bother to him, though. He only wanted you to do it again. “Oh, god, Eren.”

When you came, you squeezed him so perfectly that he actually thought he might explode. It took his last bit of self-control to fuck you at such a steady and slow pace when, in reality, he wanted to hammer into you. 

Eren felt he was moments away from boiling over. His face burned; he could feel the sweat beading at his hairline from this aching, pent-up desire within him. After fingering you, going down on you—after days spent fantasizing about you, he needed release. 

Even you could see it: the unmistakable flush of his face, now spreading to the base of his neck and spanning his chest. As blissed out as you were, limply collapsed on top of him, you mumbled against his skin, “Eren, I want you to come, too.”

And how could he turn that down? Now that you had come three times, he figured he could finally have his turn. 

“I’m gonna go a bit faster now. You tell me if that’s okay or not.”

Before he could even flinch, you assured him, “It’s okay. I want you to.”

The soft laziness of your voice, the dreaminess seeping through like syrup—it was too much.

Eren took you by the hips first, holding your body pliant for him to thrust into. He started with long drags of his cock, letting the tip kiss your entrance before stuffing himself back inside. Each time he bottomed out, he bit back a vulgar curse he wished he could hiss into your ear. 

Then, his hands flattened against your back, folding you to him with palms seared into your shoulder blades. Tucked into the crook of his neck, heat smothered your face as he fucked up into you. The bed began to squeak, like a mockery of your tiny bleats.

“You all right?” Eren asked, his voice tight. 

You only made an affirmative sound, muffled as you burrowed into him. With your chest warm, like a tingle between your lungs, and your head stuck somewhere in space, you took him in a speechless, almost surreal bliss. How fiercely he needed you, if only for a blip in time, was intoxicating. 

And in that fleeting moment, the forbiddenness, the sin of it all, had vanished. Eren was sure the feeling would rear itself again, the guilt that would later course through him once he inevitably faced what he’d done. But even if it meant betraying one of his best friends, he couldn’t find it within himself to regret a second of it. 

Especially when he realized how fucking good it felt to come inside you. With his arms ironclad around your waist, your entire front smushed against his, he snapped his hips into you. He emptied himself into the condom as a groan tore through his throat, the hum of it vibrating against the shell of your ear and down your spine.

He pulled out of you, faintly cursing as he went. You fell to his side, exhausted, and stared at the ceiling with fuzzy, unfocused vision. The rush of adrenaline was on a steep comedown, and you were already starting to feel it. Sore, but extremely satisfied. 

“You should probably go to the bathroom—to pee and stuff,” Eren said, with that familiar, boyish side already returning in full force.

Pee. Got it.

You only muttered a ‘yeah’ before redressing and tiptoeing off to the bathroom. There, you wiped yourself clean, forced yourself to pee, and gave yourself a good long look in the mirror. 

In a single night, you managed to hit every base. By definition, a home run—and with your brother’s cute friend, at that.

When you returned to your bedroom, you were shocked to find Eren still there. He had one foot in his sweatpants when you opened the door. He gave you a soft smile as you hopped into your bed. 

Then, even more surprisingly, he asked, “Do you want me to stay?”

Eren knew it was dumb to ask. He should leave and go back to the basement immediately unless he wanted to get caught. Still, it felt like the right thing to say.

You giggled. “I think my brother would kill you if he found you in here.”

He laughed along with you, but when it settled, he crawled beneath your sheets anyway.

Though you felt uncertain, he consoled it away with, “Don’t worry. I’ll just hang here ‘til you fall asleep.” You at least deserved that.

Eren turned off the light and let you rest your head against his chest, your arm looped around his waist. You didn’t know where the urge to cuddle came from, and neither did he, but he didn’t question it. It was comfortable, even as he waited for that pang of guilt to smack him across the face.

But it never did. And once he heard your breathing taper into a peaceful drone, he slipped out of your bed and snuck back downstairs. That stupid air mattress felt a lot more comfortable now with that weight off his shoulders. 

Finally, Eren had scratched the itch he couldn’t kick. He just needed to get it out of his system. There was absolutely no way he’d think of you again—not your kittenish little smile, not how you curled against him in your sleep—especially while you were three hours away at school…

Right?

thank you for reading!

[jvngkolvr]

aguacero — eren yeager , mdni

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ chapter three ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ - smau, warning

authors note: hey guys so sorry about the late update :( i’ve lowkey been slacking and working too much but chapter 3 is here!!!! i think the next chapter will be written out instead of doing a SMAU one. lmk how you guys are liking it so far!!! 🩷

[jvngkolvr]

Chapter 3 out!!!!

[jiminrings]

4-7-8; series masterlist

pairing: jungkook x reader

glimpse: you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.

alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

warnings: semi-heavy angst (pls take a break when necessary!!), emotional constipation, no cheating happens here btw (neither physical nor emotional), self-loathing, miscommunication, based on the moral dilemma of whether or not it’s okay to be friends with ur ex, intense yearning + specified tags in each installment!

notes: thank you so much for all the love for 478 ♡ i rlly love reading all your feedback and thoughts!! send them in here :)

cross-posted on ao3.

early access + additional content on patreon.

Keep reading

[jvngkolvr]

aguacero — eren yeager , mdni

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ chapter three ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ - smau, warning

authors note: hey guys so sorry about the late update :( i’ve lowkey been slacking and working too much but chapter 3 is here!!!! i think the next chapter will be written out instead of doing a SMAU one. lmk how you guys are liking it so far!!! 🩷

[gardenspells]

just a friendly reminder that this blog hates ICE

[lobotomymutt]

*unfriendly reminder.

If you support ICE or anything of the sort I hope you choke on the damn boot you keep licking

[puckingcuckbunny]

𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭 ✪

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 : john logan x sports med! fem!reader 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : suggestive content [making out, mild mild PDA], not secret but private relationship, hockey frat boys, probably alot of inaccuracies 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : The Briar hockey team treats the sports medicine clinic like their personal emergency room, John Logan treats it like a second home. But the team can't confirm nor deny your relationship... well until now 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 3.8k words 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : Might not be my best work! but I am just getting used to the sports fandom in general. Also still deciding whether im leaning more towards book or show Logan, so I hope you enjoy my attempt at feeling out his character. diver credit : @cafekitsune

The sports medicine clinic at Briar somehow always smells the same no matter what time of year it is. Hockey gear, melting ice packs, and disinfectant.

And is technically supposed to close at six.

Technically.

In reality, it closes whenever the hockey team finally stops wandering in with mystery bruises, split knuckles, sore shoulders, or dramatic declarations that they’re "probably dying" before immediately asking for snacks five minutes later.

Which is why you’re still here. Somewhere along the line, what started as a second-year sports medicine placement had turned into unofficial emotional support for the entire Briar hockey team, half the roster had your number for “emergencies,” which unfortunately ranged anywhere from actual injuries to Garrett once texting you a photo of a bruise shaped vaguely like Abraham Lincoln at two in the morning.

The fluorescent lights hum quietly overhead while you reorganise rolls of athletic tape for the third time that evening, one AirPod in, paperwork half-finished beside you, when the clinic door swings open.

You don’t even look up immediately.

“You’re late,” you say automatically.

“Mrs Logaaaan,” Garrett sings back.

Tucker’s voice follows before you can respond. “Oh thank god, my favourite healthcare professional.”

“Can you legally prescribe me a girlfriend?” Dean winks at you, messing with his hair- spraying sweat onto the other players around him. 

That makes you glance up and grimace.

“You need deodorant first,” you reply flatly.

Your comment earns a loud chorus of offended reactions.

“You’re so mean to us.” One of them whines

“You guys make it incredibly easy.”

Hockey players file into the clinic grinning like idiots, damp hair from practice still sticking up in random directions, one drags himself dramatically toward one of the beds clutching his shoulder like he’s been mortally wounded.

“See? I told you guys that Logan’s her favourite. She hates the rest of us.”

“That’s not true,” you say automatically.

It kind of is, though.

You’d known all of them for years at this point - through playoffs and fractured fingers and Dean getting banned from intramural basketball for “excessive dramatics” - but Logan had somehow become something else entirely before you even realised it was happening.

“Logan’s my favourite because he knows how to fill out injury forms without drawing smiley faces.” You snort quietly and reach for a fresh pair of gloves. 

“That was one time,” Dean argues.

“It was four times. It doesn't get funnier the more you do it.”

The boys continue arguing over each other while you start sorting through who actually needs treatment and who’s just here for attention.

And from behind all of them, Logan steps into the room, looking unfairly good for someone who just spent two hours getting bodychecked into plexiglass.

His practice jersey is half untucked, curls damp at the edges from sweat, hockey bag hanging from one shoulder while he watches the entire scene unfold with the long-suffering expression of a man who absolutely could stop his teammates and simply chooses not to.

Your mouth twitches on instinct.

“Not a single one of you knows how to act in medical facilities.”

“We’re athletes,” one of them replies solemnly. “We’re fragile.”

“You’re twenty.”

“Exactly.”

His eyes find you. It’s subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice unless they were specifically looking for it, but you do. The way his expression shifts slightly the second he sees you, shoulders loosening a little like he’s finally somewhere he actually wants to be.

Unfortunately, the team notices too.

“There he goes,” Garrett says loudly to the room. “Looking at her like she personally invented happiness.”

“Actually disgusting,” another adds.

You shake your head under your breath, trying not to smile as you move toward the nearest bed.

“Alright, what happened?”

“Practice injury,” the player says dramatically.

“You got hit with a foam roller.”

“It was aggressive.”

From behind him, Logan laughs quietly.

The sound pulls your attention toward him automatically.

He’s already looking at you.

He always is, it started sometime last winter, subtle enough neither of you acknowledged it at first, until suddenly Logan had become this fixed point in your day without either of you meaning for him to.

And then, because apparently he enjoys making your job harder, he drops onto the stool closest to your station while the rest of the boys continue causing problems in the background.

You narrow your eyes slightly.

“You injured too?”

He shrugs once and glances at your clipboard.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

You look down at him. “No actually, this is all for fun.”

His mouth twitches.

Behind him, one of the guys points accusingly. “See that? Flirting.”

“We’re literally talking,” you say.

Which, admittedly, had become a problem sometime around November. Because Logan looked at you during conversations like every sentence mattered more than it probably did.

“That’s how it starts.”

Logan ignores them entirely.

“You look tired,” he says instead, quieter now.

You blink at him once, slightly thrown by the softness of it in the middle of all the noise, mostly because Logan only really sounded like that with you. Everyone else got easygoing sarcasm and dry one-liners. You got this version of him instead.

“Your team is exhausting.”

“That’s fair.”

“You included.”

“Less than the others.”

“Debatable.”

That finally gets a proper smile out of him, small but real, and it sits annoyingly well on his face.

You gesture toward the treatment beds with your pen. “Okay, which one of you is actually injured and which one of you just wants free medical attention?”

“My knee-”

“My wrist-”

“Emotionally, mostly-”

“Shocking,” you mutter, already beginning to inspect somebody’s wrist.

And through all of it, Logan stays where he is.

Closest to you.

Which, unfortunately, only makes the entire situation infinitely worse.. Because now he’s just sitting there. Watching you work.

You move from player to player while the clinic slowly dissolves into complete nonsense around you, someone stealing gloves from a supply drawer while another dramatically asks if bruising counts as a life-threatening condition.

“You’re literally holding an ice pack shaped like a cartoon penguin,” you deadpan, “meant for the kids who come for weekend lessons by the way.”

“It’s emotionally devastating.”

“You’ll survive.”

“That’s what they said about the Titanic.”

“Get out.”

Laughter breaks across the room in an undignified uproar.

Logan stays focussed on you with that same quiet gaze he always gets whenever you’re concentrating on something. One foot hooked loosely against the stool rung while he  absentmindedly spun the little keychain attached to the back pocket of your scrub bottoms. 

You glance back over your shoulder briefly.

He doesn’t even look guilty.

If anything, the corner of his mouth lifts slightly when he realises you noticed.

“You’re annoying,” you murmur quietly while digging through the drawer for bandages.

“Thought I was hot.”

You try to stay unimpressed, but your mouth still betrays you by twitching slightly while you go back to work, “You can be both.”

That earns the smallest laugh out of him.

Across the room, Garrett notices immediately, pausing mid-sentence and looking between the two of you suspiciously.

“Why are you looking at him like that?”

You don’t even blink.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to put him down.”

“Because he’s touching my keychain.”

“That’s weirdly domestic.”

“It’s literally a keychain.”

“Yeah,” Dean cuts in, grinning now. “A married couple keychain.”

Logan finally speaks again from beside you.

“Pretty sure married people have bigger problems.”

Dean chirps back, “Like taxes and children.”

Garrett points at Logan. “That man would thrive as a girl dad.”

Logan doesn’t even look embarrassed. If anything, he looks mildly annoyed at being interrupted.

You throw a roll of tape at them without looking.

The room erupts instantly.

“Okay,” you say over the noise, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. “Everybody either sit down properly or leave.”

Shockingly, they obey.

You finish checking a plethora of oddly shaped bruises and superficial cuts while the clinic finally settles into a moderate calm around you, the post-practice energy finally starting to wear off.

The entire time, Logan stays close. Close enough that every now and then your thigh brushes his knee when you walk past, close enough that he occasionally reaches out to tug lightly on the edge of your hoodie sleeve just to get your attention for absolutely no reason.

Especially when Dean starts dramatically fake-flirting with you while you’re checking his wrist, only for Logan to look up from where he’s sitting and say,

“Relax.” Which is unfortunately the exact tone he uses whenever he’s jealous but is trying to pretend he isn’t.

Dean sharply bursts out laughing.

“OH MY GOD THERE IT IS, you’re actually possessive!”

“I’m not possessive,” Logan lies.

“You looked ready to fight me.”

“You’re annoying me.”

“That’s even worse!”

You shake your head, trying to hide your smile while Logan leans against the counter behind him, completely unbothered by the fact that the entire room is basically accusing him of being in love.

Eventually, when the bulk of the man-toddlers have left the clinic and you’ve handed out enough ice packs to survive a small natural disaster. You finally make your way back over to Logan, picking up the 100th incident form to fill out for the stragglers left behind, 

“You sure you’re fine?” you ask eventually without looking directly at him.

“Mostly.”

That makes you glance up, you click your pen and drop it into your pocket,

“Mostly?”

He finally shifts slightly on the stool.

“My shoulder’s stiff.”

You stare at him.

“You waited until after I treated everyone else to tell me that?”

A shrug.

“You were busy.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

His mouth twitches again.

“You like me anyway.”

The worst part was that he said things like that with complete certainty now, like somewhere over the past few months he’d stopped questioning whether you’d stay.

One of the teammates gags dramatically somewhere behind him.

“There it is.”

“Shut up,” Logan says immediately.

You’re already moving toward the storage cabinet before the teasing can escalate further, only to realise halfway there that the tape drawer is nearly empty.

You stop.

Then sigh.

“Great.”

“What?” Logan asks.

“Your idiot teammates used the last of my shoulder tape.”

A couple guys cheer from across the room, “LET’S GO.”

Logan rolls his eyes at them, “That sounds like a team problem.”

“That sounds like your problem,” you huff.

He looks entirely unbothered.

“So,” you continue, ignoring them completely, “I need to go grab more from storage.”

Logan nods once.

“You can come back after your shower and I’ll tape it for you properly.”

He pauses.

“You want me to leave?”

“You smell like a locker room.”

“That’s hurtful.”

“And yet,” Garrett says from the hallway without even looking back, “she keeps letting you come over.”

Logan doesn’t miss a beat.

“That’s because she looooves me.”

“Disgusting,” Dean mutters.

You point toward the hallway.

“Go shower or change or whatever the hell you hockey people do after practice and come back in twenty minutes. I’ll restock from the storage room.”

One teammate gasps dramatically.

“She’s asking him to come back.”

“She asks all injured athletes to come back,” you say flatly.

“Yeah, but not like that.”

Logan looks up at you with the faintest grin tugging at his mouth, then he stands, tall enough that suddenly the tiny clinic space feels much smaller than it did thirty seconds ago.

He grabs his bag from the floor without taking his eyes off you properly.

“I’ll be back,” he says.

One of the players makes kissing noises immediately.

You throw a roll of bandage backing at them.

This time Logan laughs properly.

The rest of them filter out behind him in a mess of noise and complaints, leaving the clinic suddenly, almost suspiciously, quiet.

You thank the gods and take advantage of whatever time they've mercifully gifted you. Taking the minutes to do small tasks like restocking tape from the back storage room, reorganising supplies and finishing the paperwork you abandoned earlier.

By the time the clinic door opens again, barely fifteen minutes later, the noise of the team has completely faded into the distance.

You look up from where you’re reorganising a tray of supplies with immediate suspicion.

“You showered fast,” you say lightly.

Logan closes the door behind him with his elbow before answering, hair still damp around the edges like he’d towel-dried it in under thirty seconds and called it a day. He’s swapped into grey sweats and a dark Briar hoodie, duffel bag hanging lazily from one hand, and he looks far too pleased with himself for someone supposedly recovering from an injury.

“Yeah,” he says easily, walking toward you. “Wanted to see you.”

There was a time that line would’ve completely short-circuited your nervous system. Now it just settled warm somewhere beneath your ribs because Logan said things like that all the time.

You roll your eyes automatically even though warmth blooms under your skin anyway.

The corner of your mouth twitches before you can stop it.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Romantic.”

“I know.”

“You’re laying it on thick today.”

He drops his bag by the wall with a heavy thud and sits himself up on the treatment bed while you grab the fresh tape you’d dragged out from storage, and hold it out toward him

“There,” you say. “Knock yourself out.”

Logan stares down at the tape for a second like you’ve personally betrayed him, then his mouth pulls into the most ridiculous pout you’ve ever seen on a grown man.

“…Baby.”

“What?” you ask.

“You’re just handing it to me?”

“You have hands.”

“But you do it better.”

The thing about Logan was that he got clingier when he was tired. Post-practice Logan in particular operated almost exclusively on physical contact and opportunistic whining.

You choke out a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“But you do it better,” he complains, looking up at you from where he’s sitting. “You literally study this stuff. It’s like having a personal private healthcare system.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

You fold your arms, trying very hard not to smile while he keeps looking at you like a neglected house cat.

You stare at him for a second, then laugh softly under your breath despite yourself.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m injured.”

“You are literally sitting upright.”

“My shoulder hurts.”

“You survived practice.”

“Barely.”

He says it completely deadpan too, which somehow makes it worse.

You step closer eventually, taking the tape back out of his hand with a dramatic sigh.

“I cannot believe this works on me.”

“It does though.”

You roll your eyes, lean down, and kiss the pout right off his mouth.

It’s quick, barely more than a soft press of your lips against his, but it instantly wipes the smug suffering expression off his face.

“There,” you murmur against him. “Better?”

“Much.”

“you're so manipulative.”

“You love it.”

Unfortunately, he isn’t wrong.

Still shaking your head, you begin to pick at the tape, searching for a start, a grin breaks across his face.

“There she is.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

He leans back slightly while you move closer, between his parted knees, 

“Take your shirt off.”

Logan’s eyebrows lift with mock dignity,

“Wow.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying, very forward of you.”

You point the tape threateningly.

“I can and will mess this up on purpose.”

That finally earns a laugh out of him before he grabs the bottom of the shirt and peels it up slowly over his stomach and chest before pulling it fully off. The movement flexes the muscles across his shoulders and arms in a way that makes your hands pause for just a second too long before continuing.

The first time you’d seen Logan shirtless, you’d nearly walked face-first into a supply cart. Now you liked to think that you mostly handled it with dignity. 

But even though you have seen him shirtless before, plenty of times, your brain still stalls for a second. Of course he notices, a Cheshire smirk spreading across his face.

“Are you checking me out right now?”

You snap your eyes back up to his. “Relax.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve literally taken your shirt off in front of me like a hundred times.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning back on one hand. “So why are you acting shy now?”

“I’m not acting shy.”

“You stopped moving.”

“I was thinking medically.”

That gets a laugh out of him, low and warm and entirely too satisfied.

“Sure you were.”

You shove lightly at his shoulder. “Sit properly before I ruin your tape on purpose.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He straightens up obediently, but the second you lean closer to inspect the swelling, his hands settle automatically on your hips, warm and familiar through the fabric of your leggings. Logan constantly touched you in ways so absentminded, they almost felt instinctive - a hand at your back, fingers catching your sleeve, knees knocking together under tables. 

You glance down at them while peeling the backing off the tape.

“That’s not very professional of you.”

Logan looks at you innocently. “Neither is ogling your patient.”

You snort despite yourself and press your palm flat against his chest to push him back slightly so you can work properly.

“Shut up unless you want me to tape your arm to your torso.”

“Bit kinky for a medical facility.”

“John.”

You press the tape down slightly harder against his shoulder, he laughs quietly through the wince, shoulders shaking beneath your hands before finally relaxing when you glare at him.

“Abuse of power.”

“Keep talking and I’ll make it asymmetrical.”

That finally shuts him up.

The room settles into something quieter after that, the air hums softly around the two of you, close and warm and familiar in a way that makes the rest of campus feel very far away. You focus on the tape, fingers smoothing it across the curve of his shoulder and down his arm while Logan watches you with that same soft, steady attention he always gets when he thinks you aren’t noticing.

“You concentrate really hard,” he murmurs eventually.

“I’m trying to stop you from destroying your rotator cuff.”

“Hot.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says lightly, thumbs brushing absentmindedly against your hips, “you keep me around.”

You finish the final strip and smooth your hand over it one last time, making sure it’s fully adhered before tossing the empty backing aside.

“There,” you murmur, “Done.”

The clinic suddenly feels too quiet without the team in it.

Just the hum of fluorescent lights, the faint smell of your strawberry chapstick, and Logan looking at you like he has absolutely nowhere else he’d rather be.

You don’t step away and his hands tighten slightly at your hips while you’re still leaning forward over him, palms braced against the crinkling paper beside him on the treatment bed. Suddenly you’re very aware of how close your faces are.

You can feel his breathe against your parted lips, warm and steady

“You’re staring again,” he says quietly.

“You’re shirtless in a medical facility.”

“You invited me.”

Your eyes flick down to his mouth first and you lean in to kiss him before he can say something smug about it.

The first kiss is soft, more amused than anything, except Logan enthusiastically kisses you back. It’s not so chaste anymore.

His hand slides from your hip up along your waist while your fingers instinctively catch against the back of his neck, and the second you kiss him deeper, he exhales softly against your mouth like it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

You can feel the warmth of his skin beneath your hands, nails digging into his shoulder.

His mouth stays slow at first, then the kiss deepens steadily until your breathing catches halfway through it, a small involuntary sound escaping you before you can stop it, and Logan takes the opportunity to tilt his head and kiss you deeper like he’s been waiting for permission.

One of his hands slides into your hair, the other stays firm at your waist.

The new angle arches you against him properly now, your chest pressed lightly to his as he kisses you harder this time, slower and warmer and very deliberately not innocent.

His mouth is still curved faintly like he’s enjoying the fact that you started this, but the smugness fades quickly when your fingers slide into the damp hair at the base of his head and tug lightly.

The sound he makes against your mouth is quiet, but enough to make heat rush straight through you.

“Oh, you liked that,” you murmur before kissing him again. Logan’s hand tightens instinctively at your waist like he’s annoyed you noticed, which only makes you want to tease him more.

“Don’t get cocky,” he says, voice lower now.

“You literally started pouting for attention five minutes ago.”

“And it worked.”

He kisses you again before you can answer, his fingers creep below the hem of your scrubs and his palm flattens up on your spine, against your bare skin. The other slides down from your hair to your neck, guiding you harder into his lips, mouth parting to swallow your shallow breaths.

The paper beneath him crinkles loudly when he shifts forward toward the edge of the bed, and you can’t help laughing softly into the kiss at how absurdly obvious the sound is.

“You’re so clingy,” you whisper.

“Mm,” he hums against your mouth. “You love it.”

You pull away from him, chest heaving as you make room for his hands to skate up your sides, your scrub top going with them, "Actually...", his hands pause against you. You grin, going to press hot kisses to his neck, "I love you."

He groans at that, blunt nails digging into your ribs, just below your bra- itching to take it off.

You’re about to help him peel off your layers, when the clinic door suddenly slams open hard enough to hit the stopper behind it.

“YO LOGAN-”

You jerk back just enough to look toward the doorway while complete silence takes over the room.

You and Logan freeze for approximately half a second while the entire hockey team stands in the doorway staring in collective disbelief.

One teammate points aggressively.

“I KNEW IT.”

Another gasps dramatically.

“MRS. LOGAN CONFIRMED IN REAL LIFE.”

You bury your face briefly in Logan’s shoulder, mortified and laughing at the same time, meanwhile, Logan looks ready to commit murder.

He reaches blindly for the tape roll beside him and chucks it directly at them.

“Get out, you perverts.”

The tape bounces uselessly off one guy’s chest and nobody leaves.

If anything, they move further inside.

“HE’S DEFENSIVE!” someone yells.

“BRO WE INTERRUPTED FOREPLAY.”

“You guys are so annoying,” you groan, face burning.

Logan just watches you laugh for a second, despite the fact his teammates are actively ruining his life in real time, something in his expression softens completely.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he mutters quietly.

You look back at him with teary eyes.

“You threw tape at them.”

“They interrupted me.”

“That sounded possessive. Maybe Dean was right?”

“It was, can't believe I'm proving him correct.”

"YES MRS. LOGAN" Dean cheers from within the pack.

That makes you laugh all over again.

Logan, meanwhile, tightens an arm around your waist and glares at them with absolutely zero shame. He doesn’t even bother to move away from you anymore, which is probably the most embarrassing part.

“Door,” he says flatly.

The boys finally retreat, still yelling over each other, and the second the door slams shut again, the clinic falls back into silence.

You look down at Logan. He looks up at you.

“They absolutely ruined the mood.”

[jvngkolvr]

did not expect to like off campus as much as I did and now I’m obsessed

[jvngkolvr]

aguacero — eren yeager , mdni

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ chapter two ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ - smau, warning

a/n: im sosososo happy you guys are enjoying this fic!!! let me know if you have any questions or theories about the story, where you think the storyline between eren and oc are gonna go, etc. please repost pookies <3333

[jvngkolvr]

new chapter is up!!!!

[jvngkolvr]

aguacero — eren yeager , mdni

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ chapter two ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ - smau, warning

a/n: im sosososo happy you guys are enjoying this fic!!! let me know if you have any questions or theories about the story, where you think the storyline between eren and oc are gonna go, etc. please repost pookies <3333

[jungkoostar]

✸ WINNING YOUR BET ─── 📷

— Pairing mean! jungkook x bad bitch! f reader.

— In which a stupid high school bet turns into full psychological warfare. He thinks he can break the campus ice queen in three weeks to win a motorcycle, but she already knows his secret. What starts as mutual hatred and brutal, toxic insults quickly explodes into a dangerous physical addiction where neither is willing to back down, leading all the way to a devastating public revenge on graduation night.

— academic rivals to enemies with benefits | hate-love dynamic | high school seniors to college | toxic relationship | brutal banter | rough sex | mutual obsession | incredibly toxic and manipulative behaviors, | rude/mean dynamics|consensual but aggressive enemies-to-lovers. Reader discretion is highly advised. | word count: 11k

This for berry @mikrokookiex u better read it this time 🤍

"You're breathing my air, Jungkook. Move."

Jungkook didn't even blink. He leaned his lower back against the sleek marble kitchen counter of the crowded beach house, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. A slow, incredibly annoying smirk spread across his face as his dark eyes locked onto yours. He took a deliberate, slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact.

"The kitchen belongs to whoever gets here first," he said, his voice a low, gravelly scratch that usually made girls at Westbridge High lose their minds. To you, it just sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "Besides, there’s plenty of space. You’re just annoyed because my presence is throwing off your aesthetic."

You let out a cold, humorless laugh, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him. The bass from the living room speakers vibrated through the floorboards, but the space between the two of you felt dead silent, thick with pure malice. You were wearing your favorite black dress—the one that made you look like an untouchable queen—and you used every bit of your height to look down your nose at him.

"Your presence throws off my mood, which is worse," you snapped, your voice dripping with sweet poison. "And trust me, Jeon, your aesthetic is entirely salvageable if you just put a bag over your head. Now, get out of my way before I accidentally spill this red wine all over your ridiculously expensive, try-hard jacket."

Jungkook’s smirk didn't fade, but his eyes darkened. He loved this. He lived for it. Everyone else in the graduating class walked on eggshells around him because he was wealthy, insanely attractive, and possessed a ruthless streak that could ruin a person's social life with a single rumor. But you? You were the ice queen of the senior hall. You didn't walk on eggshells; you crushed them under your designer heels.

"Try it," he dared softly, leaning down just an inch so his face was level with yours. "Spill it. See what happens."

"Is that a threat?"

"It’s a promise, sweetheart."

You held his gaze for three agonizing seconds, the air between you practically sparking with fire, before you forcefully shoved past his shoulder, making sure to hit him hard enough to make him stumble back against the counter. You didn't look back as you walked out into the humid night air, but you could practically feel his eyes burning a hole in your spine.

Ten minutes later, you were standing on the darkened back balcony, away from the sweaty bodies and the blinding strobe lights of the end-of-term party. You needed a second to breathe without looking at Jeon Jungkook’s stupid, perfect face.

You leaned against the wooden railing, looking out at the dark ocean waves. You took a deep breath, letting the cool wind calm the irritation bubbling in your chest.

Then, you heard voices right below you.

"There is no way in hell, man. She’ll castrate you before you even get her phone number."

It was Mingyu’s voice, loud and slightly drunk, coming from the shadows of the patio directly beneath the balcony.

"I’m serious," another voice chimed in. Yugyeom. "She’s not a girl, she’s a black widow. She literally ruined Seojun’s life last semester because he breathed too loudly next to her in AP Lit. You can’t tame that."

You froze, your fingers gripping the wooden railing tightly. You quietly leaned over the edge, peer-reading through the darkness. There, sitting on the outdoor lounge chairs with red solo cups in their hands, were Jungkook’s closest boys.

And standing right in the middle of them, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his silver lighter, was Jungkook himself. The small orange flame illuminated his sharp jawline and the arrogant tilt of his head.

"I don't need to tame her," Jungkook said, his voice chillingly calm as he blew a cloud of smoke into the night air. "I just need her to fall for me. There's a difference."

"A bet's a bet, Jeon," Mingyu laughed, slapping his knee. "One month. If you can get her to actually date you—like, hold your hand in the hallway, look at you like she doesn't want to murder you, and admit she’s yours—we buy you that vintage motorcycle you've been drooling over. But when she rejects you and shatters your tiny little ego into a million pieces, you hand over the keys to your car."

You felt the blood in your veins turn to absolute ice. A bet. They were turning you into a game.

You waited, holding your breath, wanting to hear exactly what the bastard would say.

Jungkook let out a low, cocky chuckle. He took another drag of his cigarette, looking up toward the sky, completely unaware that you were looking right down at him.

"A month is too long," Jungkook said, his tone full of disgusting confidence. "Give me three weeks. By graduation night, she’ll be begging me to be her boyfriend. The ice queen is going to melt, boys. Watch me."

Up on the balcony, your shock instantly melted away, replaced by a roaring, burning wave of fury. Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. How dare he? How dare he think he could play you like one of his stupid little video games? He thought he was the ultimate predator at Westbridge High. He thought everyone played by his rules.

A dangerous, slow smile crept onto your lips. The anger in your chest crystallized into something sharp, cold, and beautiful.

Oh, Jeon Jungkook, you thought, watching him laugh with his friends below. You just picked the wrong girl to mess with.

You weren't going to expose him. That would be too easy, too boring. No, you were going to play along. You were going to let him think he was winning. You would let him pull out every single one of his smooth, pathetic, charming tricks, and right when he thought he had you in the palm of his hand... you were going to destroy him. You would make him fall so hard his head would spin, and then you would break his heart in front of the entire school.

The game was on.

The next Monday morning, the school hallway was a chaotic mess of seniors counting down the days to graduation. Lockers were slamming, people were laughing, and the energy was high.

You walked through the front doors, your hair perfectly styled, your chin held high. People naturally moved out of your way, knowing better than to cross your path before you had your morning iced coffee. You reached your locker, spinning the lock with practiced ease.

"Good morning, sunshine."

A heavy weight leaned against the locker right next to yours. You didn't even have to look up to know who it was. The scent of expensive cologne and mint gave him away instantly.

Jungkook was leaning against the metal door, dressed in a black leather jacket, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He gave you a look that he probably thought was irresistible. It was his signature "I’m trouble, but you want me" look.

You slowly closed your locker door, turning your body to face him. Usually, you would have told him to drop dead within two seconds. But today, you had a script to play.

You let your eyes travel down his body, slowly, deliberately, making sure he noticed your inspection. Then, you looked back up, your expression completely blank, almost bored.

"You're in my light, Jungkook," you said smoothly, keeping your voice even.

"I am the light, babe," he replied, flashing a grin that showed off his sharp canine teeth. He stepped a bit closer, invading your personal space. He reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch away from a strand of your hair, before he gently tucked it behind your ear. His touch was warm, but it made your skin crawl with competitive adrenaline. "You looked beautiful at the party on Saturday, by the way. Even when you were trying to murder me with your eyes."

Um, so Phase One of his plan has begun, you thought. The cheesy compliments.

Instead of slapping his hand away like you normally would, you stayed perfectly still. You tilted your head, a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It was a bait smile. A dangerous one.

"Are you hitting on me, Jeon?" you asked, your voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing whisper. "Because if you are, it’s a bit pathetic. I thought you had better game than that."

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He had clearly expected you to snap at him, to yell, or to walk away. The fact that you were standing your ground and talking back with a soft tone caught him completely off guard. Your reaction wasn't in his playbook.

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, his eyes narrowing with newfound interest.

"Maybe I am," he murmured, leaning his head down, his voice dropping into that dangerous, intimate register. "Maybe I’ve realized that the mean girls are much more interesting than the nice ones."

"Is that so?" You stepped even closer to him, so close that his chest almost brushed against yours. You could see the slight flare of his nostrils as his breath hitched. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your expression a perfect mix of mockery and temptation. "Well, let me give you a piece of advice, Jungkook. I don't do 'interesting.' And I definitely don't do boys who try too hard."

Before he could respond, you patted his chest twice with your hand—right over his heart, feeling the steady, rapid beat against your palm—and walked past him toward your first class.

Jungkook stayed frozen by the lockers for a moment, watching your retreating figure. He ran a hand through his hair, a genuine, frustrated laugh escaping his lips. His heart was actually beating faster, and it pissed him off.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. This wasn't going to be a simple walk in the park. She wasn't just mean—she was smart.

By the time lunch rolled around, the entire cafeteria was buzzing. You sat at your usual table near the large glass windows, surrounded by the top tier of the school's social ladder. You weren't really listening to whatever drama your friend was talking about; your eyes were fixed on the entrance.

Right on cue, Jungkook entered with his boys. He looked around the crowded room until his eyes found yours.

Instead of looking away, you held his gaze. You picked up your strawberry, taking a slow, deliberate bite while looking directly at him.

Jungkook’s stride slowed down. His friends noticed, looking between him and your table. Jungkook murmured something to Mingyu, broke away from his group, and walked straight toward your table. The entire cafeteria seemed to grow quieter, dozens of heads turning to watch the collision of the school’s two most dangerous seniors.

He stopped right at the edge of your table, placing both hands on the surface, leaning forward.

"We’re going out tonight," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a command.

Your friends gasped softly, staring at him like he had lost his mind. Nobody spoke to you like that.

You wiped your mouth with a napkin, entirely unbothered. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs. "Excuse me? Did I miss a chapter where I suddenly care about what you want?"

"Seven o'clock. I’ll pick you up," Jungkook continued, ignoring your bite. His eyes were intensely focused, a challenging glint in them. "Unless, of course, the ice queen is too scared to spend two hours alone with me."

Ah. Reverse psychology. How incredibly basic.

You let out a soft sigh, looking at him like he was a mildly amusing puppy. You knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to get you alone so he could charm you, make his move, and secure the bet. And you wanted to get him alone so you could start breaking his sanity.

"Scared of you?" you asked softly, loud enough for your friends to hear. You stood up, picking up your tray. You leaned across the table, your face just inches from his, mirroring his posture. The energy between you was so sharp the people sitting next to you looked uncomfortable. "Keep dreaming, Jeon. I'll give you two hours. But let’s make one thing clear: if you bore me, I’m leaving you on the side of the road."

Jungkook’s eyes flared with a mix of triumph and something hotter, something greedier. "Deal."

"Seven o'clock," you whispered, giving him a cold, gorgeous smile that didn't reach your eyes. "Don't be late. I hate waiting."

As you walked away to trash your lunch tray, you felt a massive rush of adrenaline. He thought he had just won the first round. He thought he had successfully baited you into a date. He had absolutely no idea that he had just walked right into a trap of his own making.

The hunter thought he was tracking a deer, but he had just poked a sleeping lion.

The black sports car pulled up to your curb at exactly 6:59 PM.

You watched from your second-story bedroom window as the sleek engine purred to a halt. Jungkook didn’t get out to open your door. He just sat there, the headlights cutting through the twilight, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He wanted to see if you’d make him wait.

You let out a slow, amused breath, checking your reflection one last time. You wore a tight, cropped white top, baggy low-rise cargo pants, and sharp designer boots. It was casual, effortless, and screamed I didn’t try at all for you.

You walked out of the house at exactly 7:10 PM.

When you pulled open the passenger door and slid into the leather seat, the scent of his expensive, smoky cologne hit you instantly. The interior of the car was immaculate, glowing with faint blue ambient lights.

Jungkook was leaning back, one wrist resting lazily on top of the steering wheel. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes scanning your outfit with a slow, calculating gaze. A familiar, mocking smirk played on his lips.

"Ten minutes late," he said, his voice smooth and entirely unbothered. "Trying to make a statement, sweetheart?"

"I was busy forgetting you were coming," you replied instantly, your tone dripping with sweet, careless malice. You pulled down the sun visor to check your lip gloss in the mirror, not even giving him a real glance. "Be glad I showed up at all. Drive."

Jungkook let out a low, dry chuckle. He shifted the car into drive, the tires screeching slightly as he pulled away from the curb with a bit too much speed. He was trying to intimidate you with his driving. Typical.

"You look like you’re going to a streetwear photoshoot, not a date," he remarked, his dark eyes flicking to you before focusing back on the road.

"That’s because this isn't a date," you said smoothly, snapping the sun visor back up. You crossed your arms, leaning back comfortably. "This is an audition. And so far, your conversation is getting a failing grade. Where are you taking me, Jeon? If it’s some tacky diner, I’m jumping out at the next red light."

"Relax," he murmured, his smirk widening. "I have taste. Unlike your exes."

"Bold of you to assume anyone compares to you in the tacky department," you shot back, looking out the window. "Your leather jacket looks like it was stolen from a middle-aged biker."

Jungkook’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white. You saw the faint twitch in his jaw. Score one for me, you thought, a surge of vicious satisfaction rushing through your veins. He hated his style being questioned. He prided himself on looking flawless.

"Keep talking," Jungkook muttered, his voice dropping into a lower, rougher register that vibrated through the quiet car. "We’ll see if you keep that same energy in twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up to an exclusive, high-end rooftop arcade and lounge overlooking the city skyline. It was the kind of place that required a heavy membership fee, glowing with neon purple lights and filled with vintage game cabinets, private booths, and a sleek bar. It was empty tonight—he had clearly rented out the entire terrace.

"Impressive," you said, stepping out of the car and looking around the neon-lit space. You turned to him, putting a hand on your hip. "Did you use your daddy’s credit card for this, or did you actually have to use two brain cells to make a phone call?"

Jungkook closed his car door with a loud thud, walking over to stand right in front of you. The neon purple light caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look dangerously handsome. He was tall, his broad shoulders completely blocking your view of the city behind him. He stepped so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"I use my own money," he said softly, leaning down just enough so his breath brushed against your ear. The sudden proximity made your pulse jump, but you refused to move back a single inch. "And I don't need a script to deal with a girl like you. Pick a game. Let's see if your skills match your mouth."

"Oh, they exceed it," you whispered back, looking directly into his dark, intense eyes. The physical tension between you was so heavy it felt like a physical weight, pressing against your chest. You were both practically vibrating with the urge to tear each other down. "Name the stakes, Jeon."

Jungkook walked over to a vintage racing simulator—two leather seats with steering wheels and massive screens side by side. He patted the top of one seat.

"Three rounds. Corner drifting allowed," he said, his eyes flashing with a competitive fire. "If I win, you have to let me hold your hand on the walk back to the car. In public."

Your mind immediately flashed to the bet. Ah, he’s trying to secure his first milestone for his friends. Holding hands in public was step one.

You let out a soft, mocking laugh, stepping up to the machine. "And when I win?"

"If you win, you can ask for whatever you want."

"When I win," you corrected him sharply, sliding into the leather racing seat, "you are going to carry my shopping bags across the entire school courtyard tomorrow during lunch. Like a good little assistant."

Jungkook’s eyes flared with pure, undiluted irritation at the thought of his reputation being ruined like that. He sat down in the seat next to yours, his long legs barely fitting under the machine. "Deal. Prepare to cry, sweetheart."

The game started. The countdown flashed on the screen: 3... 2... 1... GO.

For the next ten minutes, the arcade was filled with the aggressive clicking of buttons and the screeching of digital tires. You weren't just good; you were ruthless. Every time Jungkook tried to pass your digital car, you deliberately rammed your vehicle into his, forcing him into the wall.

"Are you serious right now?" Jungkook growled, violently spinning his steering wheel to recover from a crash you caused. "That's dirty playing!"

"There are no rules in war, Jeon," you mocked, your eyes glued to the screen as you took a sharp turn, keeping the lead. "Cry louder. It helps me focus."

He let out a frustrated, breathless sound, his focus intensifying. His face was dead serious, his veins popping slightly on his forearms as he gripped the wheel. By the final lap of the third round, your cars were neck and neck. The finish line was right there.

In a split-second move, Jungkook smoothly drifted around the final corner, clipping the back of your car just enough to spin you out, and crossed the finish line a fraction of a second before you.

The screen flashed: PLAYER 1 WINS.

Jungkook threw his hands up, a loud, triumphant laugh bursting from his chest. He looked over at you, his face glowing with pure, arrogant victory. "Yes! Look at that! Who's the assistant now?"

You sat back in your seat, your jaw clenched, staring at the screen in genuine frustration. You hated losing more than anything. You slowly turned your head to look at him, your expression dark and murderous.

"You got lucky," you snapped, stepping out of the seat.

"A win is a win," Jungkook said, stepping out of his seat too. He blocked your path before you could walk away, his chest almost touching yours. He was breathing a bit heavily from the intensity of the game, a smug, unbearable grin plastered across his face. He extended his right hand toward you, his fingers open. "Pay up. Hand."

You stared at his hand like it was covered in garbage. "We are in an empty arcade, Jungkook. There's no one around to see it."

"I don't care," he murmured, his voice suddenly losing its playful edge, becoming deep and heavy. He took a half-step closer, completely invading your space. The smell of his cologne, the neon lights, and the absolute silence of the rooftop made the atmosphere suffocatingly tense. "A deal's a deal. Give me your hand."

You looked up at him, your breath catching for a brief second at the sheer intensity in his gaze. He wasn't just playing a game anymore; he wanted to break your resistance.

Slowly, deliberately, you lifted your hand. But instead of placing your palm in his, you forcefully grabbed his wrist, twisting it slightly so he was forced to step closer, his chest pressing right against yours. You looked up at him with a cold, fierce smile.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Jeon," you whispered, your voice a soft, dangerous hiss against his lips. You were so close you could see the dark golden flecks in his eyes. "You won a video game. You didn't win me. You want to hold my hand? Earn it."

You let go of his wrist with a harsh flick, pushing past his shoulder.

Jungkook stood frozen by the game machines, his heart thudding violently against his ribs. He looked down at his wrist where your fingers had just been, his skin burning from the contact. The bitchy, confident attitude you had wasn't pushing him away—it was pulling him in like a black hole. He was supposed to be making you fall, but every time you looked at him like he was nothing, it made him want to conquer her even more.

By the time he drove you back to your house, the moon was high in the sky. The drive back had been filled with more biting banter, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word.

He pulled up to your curb, idling the engine.

You unbuckled your seatbelt, turning to him with a bored expression. "Well, that was mildly amusing. You get a C-minus for effort."

"C-minus?" Jungkook repeated, leaning his head back against his seat, turning to look at you with a dry smile. "I literally rented out a whole rooftop for you."

"And you lost your temper over a racing game," you replied smoothly, opening the passenger door. "Goodnight, Jeon. Try not to dream about me too much. I know it’s hard."

Before he could respond with another sarcastic comment, you slid out of the car and shut the door behind you.

You walked up your front steps, feeling his eyes tracking your every move through the tinted glass of his car. You didn't look back until you reached the front door. When you finally turned around, you saw the taillights of his sports car disappear down the street.

You walked into your quiet house, leaning your back against the closed front door. Your heart was beating remarkably fast, the adrenaline from the night still rushing through your veins.

"Three weeks," you whispered to the empty hallway, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across your lips. "Let's see who breaks first, Jungkook."

The next morning, the Westbridge High courtyard was drenched in bright, humid sunlight. It was lunch hour, the peak time for social positioning. You sat at your usual concrete table beneath the shade of a massive oak tree, sipping an iced matcha latte. Your friends were gossiping about graduation dresses, but your eyes were tracking a specific group across the courtyard.

Jungkook was leaning against a brick wall, surrounded by Mingyu, Yugyeom, and a few varsity guys. He was laughing, his head tilted back, looking every bit the untouchable, arrogant king of the senior class.

Then, his dark eyes scanned the crowd and locked onto yours.

You didn’t blink. You slowly lifted your latte, taking a sip while giving him a cold, challenge-filled look. Jungkook’s laugh faded into a smirk. He murmured something to Mingyu, broke away from the group, and began walking across the grass toward you. Every head at your table went silent.

He stopped right beside your seat, towering over you, casting a long shadow. He was wearing a fitted white tee that showed off the sharp lines of his shoulders, his hands tucked lazily into his pockets.

"You left your lip gloss in my passenger seat last night," he said, his voice loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear. A collective, quiet gasp rippled through the girls around you. He pulled the small, sleek tube from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers. "Come get it."

Yeah?. A public power move, you thought, your blood instantly humming with competitive fire. He wanted everyone to know you were in his car last night. He wanted to score points for the bet.

You slowly stood up, smoothing down your short plaid skirt. You didn't look flustered at all. Instead, you took a step closer to him, closing the distance until you were dangerously deep in his personal space. The scent of his smoky cologne hit your senses, thick and intoxicating.

"You could have just thrown it away, Jeon," you murmured, your voice a smooth, careless purr as you reached out. Instead of grabbing the lip gloss, your fingers brushed deliberately over the warm skin of his knuckles, sliding the tube out of his grip. "But I guess you just needed an excuse to talk to me today. Pathetic."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened instantly, his jaw clenching at your public insult. "Watch your mouth," he muttered, leaning down so his lips were inches from yours, his tone dropping into a rough, private whisper. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy yourself last night."

"I’ve had more exciting dental appointments," you shot back, giving him a sweet, vicious smile. You tapped the lip gloss against his chest—right over his heart—before turning on your heel and walking away toward the empty library building, knowing exactly what his bruised ego would force him to do.

You walked deep into the back stacks of the school library, past the rows of old reference books where nobody ever came during lunch. It was dimly lit, silent, and smelling of old paper and dust.

A second later, the heavy wooden door of the aisle clicked shut.

You turned around just as Jungkook stepped into the tight space between the bookshelves. His face was a mask of pure, frustrated irritation. He looked dominant, dangerous, and completely done with your games.

"What the hell is your problem?" he growled, stepping forward until he crowded you back against the cold metal bookshelf. He slammed his hand against the shelf right next to your head, trapping you. "You play nice in the car, and then you try to humiliate me in front of the entire school?"

"I don't play nice anywhere, Jungkook," you hissed, your hands coming up to press firmly against his broad chest, keeping him from crushing you. The physical contact sent a sudden, heavy jolt of lightning straight down your spine. The tension between you two was no longer just a verbal match—it was a ticking time bomb. "You wanted to play with the ice queen. Don't complain when you get burned."

"You think you're so untouchable," he muttered, his eyes dropping to your lips, his breathing turning ragged and heavy. The anger in his eyes was rapidly melting into lust. He hated how much he wanted you. He hated that your attitude was driving him completely insane. "You think I can't break you?"

"I know you can't," you whispered back, teasing him, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you felt the hard, hot planes of his chest beneath your palms.

Jungkook let out a low, feral growl. He didn't think. He just reacted.

His hand moved from the bookshelf to the back of your neck, his fingers tangled firmly into your hair as he violently pulled your face up and crashed his lips against yours.

The kiss wasn't sweet. It was a collision of teeth, friction, and pure malice. It was rude, dominant, and desperately hot. You let out a breathless gasp against his mouth, and Jungkook took the opportunity to force his tongue inside, tasting you deeply, claiming your mouth with a possessive, aggressive hunger that made your knees instantly go weak.

You didn't push him away. Your bad-bitch exterior crumbled into pure, ravenous desire. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until there was absolutely no space left between your bodies. You bit his lower lip hard enough to make him let out a dark, muffled groan into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening until it was almost bruising.

He lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back hard against the metal bookshelf. Books rattled behind you, but neither of you cared. Your legs naturally wrapped around his waist, pulling his heat right against your core. The friction through your clothes was unbearable, a sharp, electric ache building rapidly between your thighs.

"You're a brat," Jungkook panted against your lips, his mouth leaving yours to trail a path of burning, wet kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck. He bit down gently on the soft skin right above your collarbone, making you arch your back with a quiet, breathless moan that echoed in the silent library.

His large, calloused hand slid underneath your short plaid skirt, his warm palm tracing up the bare skin of your thigh. You shivered, your fingers clutching tightly into the fabric of his white shirt as his hand moved higher, his fingers slipping underneath the lace edge of your panties.

When his fingers made contact with your wet, swollen center, you let out a sharp, choked gasp against his ear. You were completely soaked for him, your body betraying every single cold word you had ever spoken to his face.

"Look at you," Jungkook whispered, his voice a deep, rough growl of pure satisfaction as he slid one long finger inside you, testing how tight and wet you were. He began to stroke you, a slow, torturous rhythm that had your head rolling back against the bookshelf. "So mean to everyone out there, but you're dripping wet for me in the dark. Say my name."

"Shut up," you gasped, your hips helplessly rolling against his hand, begging for more pressure. "Just... shut up and move."

Jungkook let out a dark chuckle, his ego completely fed by your desperation. He added a second finger, shifting his thumb to rub heavily against your sensitive nub. The sudden, intense friction sent a blinding wave of pleasure straight through your core. You clamped your teeth onto his shoulder to muffle your scream as your body violently spasmed, your walls tightening aggressively around his fingers as you rode a fierce, shattering climax.

He held you tightly, absorbing the tremors of your body, his own breathing heavy and uneven as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent.

A few minutes later, the bells for the next class rang through the hallways, shattering the heavy, silent atmosphere of the library.

The reality of what just happened crashed back into the room.

Jungkook slowly let your legs slide down to the floor. His white shirt was wrinkled, his dark hairs messy, and his lips were swollen and red from your teeth. He looked down at you, his eyes still dark with lingering lust, but that familiar, arrogant smirk was already trying to crawl back onto his face. He thought he had won. He thought he had broken the ice queen.

You smoothed down your skirt, your heart still racing, but your expression instantly hardened into a mask of pure, icy indifference. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, looking at him like he was nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.

"Not bad, Jeon," you said, your voice remarkably steady, cold, and entirely unbothered. You adjusted your collar, looking him up and down with a bored gaze. "Next time, try to be a little quicker. I have a class to get to."

Jungkook’s smirk completely vanished. His eyes widened in absolute disbelief. He had just given you a shattering orgasm against a bookshelf, and you were treating it like a mediocre homework assignment.

"Are you kidding me right now?" he muttered, his voice laced with pure irritation as you picked up your backpack from the floor. "That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want, a trophy?" you shot back smoothly, walking past him toward the aisle exit. You stopped at the edge, looking back over your shoulder with a dangerous, beautiful smile. "See you around, assistant."

You walked out of the library, leaving him standing alone in the shadows, his knuckles white with anger and his body still aching with unfulfilled tension. He was supposed to be the predator, but as he watched you walk away completely unfazed, a terrifying thought hit his mind.

He wasn't winning this game at all. He was drowning in it.

…

The days leading up to graduation were a psychological warfare.

You didn’t soften. If anything, the library incident made you twice as vicious. Every time Jungkook tried to look at you with that smug, possessive *I’ve-seen-you-undone* glint in his eyes, you cut him down with a single, freezing glance. You made it clear that what happened in the dark stayed in the dark, and in the bright, judgmental lights of Westbridge High, he was still just an arrogant target.

And it was driving him absolutely insane.

"You're late with the senior committee notes, Jeon," you said coldly, slamming a heavy leather folder onto his desk during study hall. The room was mostly empty, just a few students scattered in the back rows.

Jungkook was slouched in his chair, a black snapback turned backward on his head, spinning a silver pen between his fingers. He didn't look at the folder. He just leaned back, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a heavy, intense irritation.

"I'll finish them when I feel like it," he muttered, his voice a rough, disrespectful drawl. "Stop breathing down my neck. Unless you miss the view from the library stacks."

You leaned forward, resting both palms on his desk, bringing your face inches from his. The air between you instantly turned to pure friction, thick with a toxic mix of hatred and unyielding attraction.

"Don't flatter yourself," you whispered, your voice a sharp, dangerous blade. "That was just a charity case. I wanted to see if the campus playboy actually had any talent. Turns out, you’re just loud."

Jungkook’s silver pen snapped down onto the desk with a loud crack. He stood up abruptly, his towering frame immediately crowding you, his chest almost brushing yours. The heat radiating off him was suffocating.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" he hissed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "You act like you're better than everyone else, but you're just a mean, selfish brat who likes to play with fire."

"And you're a cocky, insecure little boy who thinks a leather jacket and a sports car make him a man," you shot back, your eyes flashing with pure malice. "I hate everything about you, Jungkook. Your voice, your face, your pathetic little ego."

"Good," he growled, his hand suddenly shooting out to grip your chin, his thumb pressing firmly against your jawline, forcing you to look up at him. His touch was rough, possessive, and entirely devoid of gentleness. "Because I absolutely loathe you. I hate how you look at me. I hate how you talk to me."

"Then let go," you breathed, your heart hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against your ribs as his gaze dropped to your mouth.

"No," he whispered, his grip tightening just a fraction. "Not until you admit you're thinking about me every single night."

Before you could respond with another biting insult, he yanked you out of the classroom and straight into the narrow, dimly lit janitor's closet across the hall, slamming the door shut and locking it with a sharp click.

The darkness of the closet was absolute, smelling of citrus cleaner and industrial bleach, but the only thing you could focus on was the heavy, ragged sound of Jungkook’s breathing.

He didn't waste time talking. He shoved you back against the concrete wall, his heavy body pinning you in place. His hands grabbed your wrists, pinning them high above your head against the cold wall.

"Let go of me, you savage," you hissed, kicking his shin with your designer boot.

"Make me," he growled back, entirely unbothered by the pain. He leaned his full weight into you, his hard, muscular thighs flattening your legs against the wall. The physical contrast was staggering—his sheer brute strength completely overpowering your fierce resistance.

He dropped his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your expensive perfume like a drug. He bit the sensitive skin right under your ear, hard enough to elicit a sharp, angry gasp from your throat.

"I hate how much I want to ruin you," Jungkook panted against your skin, his mouth moving aggressively down to your collarbone. "I want to tear that pretty, arrogant smile right off your face."

"Try it," you challenged, your voice breathless but still laced with pure defiance. "You don't have the nerve."

Jungkook let go of your wrists, but before you could strike him, his hands were tearing at the buttons of your silk blouse, popping two of them off completely. He shoved the fabric away, his large, rough hands mapping the bare skin of your waist, squeezing your flesh with a bruising, desperate hunger.

He unzipped your skirt in one violent motion, letting it drop to your ankles. You reached for him, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his black t-shirt, tearing it upward until your bare breasts pressed against his warm, tensed chest. The sensation was electric, a blinding rush of pure, raw need that erased every ounce of logic from your brain. You hated him, you despised his very existence, but your body was screaming for him to take you.

Jungkook groaned, a dark, primal sound, as his hand slid down between your thighs, ripping your lace panties to the side. He didn't bother with foreplay this time. He didn't care about being gentle. He grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly off the ground.

With one heavy, aggressive thrust, he drove himself completely inside you.

You let out a loud, choked scream, your fingers digging so deep into his shoulder blades that your nails nearly broke the skin. He was so thick, so impossibly hot, stretching you to your absolute limit.

"Fuck," Jungkook swore loudly, his head rolling back as your tight, wet walls clamped around him like a vice. He didn't wait for you to adjust. He began to move inside you with a brutal, relentless rhythm, his hips pounding against yours with a primitive, angry force.

Every thrust rattled your bones against your wall. It was a battle of dominance, a physical manifestation of the war raging in your heads. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, arching your back, meeting every hard, deep stroke with an aggressive tilt of your own hips.

"You're mine," Jungkook muttered darkly, his lips finding yours again, smothering your breathless moans with a deep, invasive kiss. His tongue copied the brutal rhythm of his hips, dominating your mouth while he stretched you inside out. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"Never," you gasped against his lips, tears of pure, overwhelming pleasure pricking the corners of your eyes as the friction hit a fever pitch. "You... you don't own me, Jeon!"

"We'll see about that," he growled, his pace turning fast, frantic, and incredibly deep. He hit a specific, sensitive spot inside you, and your vision went completely white.

A violent, shattering climax ripped through your entire body, your internal muscles spasming aggressively around him. The sheer intensity of your release pushed Jungkook over the edge. With two last, deep, desperate thrusts, he buried himself as far inside you as possible, letting out a roar as he spent himself deep inside your warmth.

For a long time, the only sound in the closet was the heavy, synchronized thudding of your hearts and the ragged gasps of your breathing. Jungkook stayed buried inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his large hands still gripping your waist like he was terrified you'd disappear if he let go.

There was a strange, heavy silence between you now. It wasn't just physical satisfaction; it was the terrifying realization that this wasn't just a game anymore. The hatred was still there, but it had morphed into something deeper, something permanent. You didn't just want to destroy him; you wanted to keep him. And he didn't just want to win a bet; he was completely obsessed with you.

Slowly, Jungkook pulled out of you, the sudden loss of his heat making you shiver.

He stepped back, adjusting his clothes in the dim light. He looked at you, his eyes completely dark, lacking his usual arrogant spark. For a second, he looked almost exposed.

You picked up your skirt, pulling it up and stepping into your boots. Your blouse was missing buttons, but you tied the ends together in a tight, effortless knot, hiding the marks he had left on your chest. You smoothed your hair back, your bad-bitch mask locking right back into place with practiced ease.

"We're even now," you said coldly, your voice cutting through the quiet room like a knife.

Jungkook paused, his hand on the doorknob. He turned his head, his brow furrowing in irritation. "Even? You think this is a scoreboard?"

"Everything with you is a scoreboard, Jungkook," you said smoothly, stepping past him to look out the small crack of the door to ensure the hallway was clear. "Tomorrow is graduation night. Enjoy your final day of thinking you're the king of Westbridge High."

Before he could ask what you meant, you slipped out of the closet and disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone in the dark.

Jungkook leaned his head against the door, a frustrated, self-deprecating laugh escaping his lips. His hands were still shaking. He was supposed to make her fall in three weeks to win a motorcycle. But as he looked at the empty space where you had just been, the brutal truth finally hit him.

He didn't give a damn about the motorcycle. He was completely, utterly ruined for anyone else.

…

The Westbridge High graduation gala was a massive, glittering sea of black ties, expensive silk dresses, and fake smiles. It was held in the grand ballroom of the city’s finest luxury hotel. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a bright, blinding light over the hundreds of seniors celebrating the end of an era. Everyone was laughing, taking photos, and drinking champagne, pretending they were all best friends.

But for you, the real event hadn't even begun. This night wasn't about celebrating a graduation. It was about executing a perfect, ruthless plan.

You stood near the massive chocolate fountain, slowly smoothing down the front of your dress. You had chosen an emerald green silk gown that fit your body like a second skin. It had a dangerously high slit up the left leg, showing off your sharp designer heels every time you took a step. Your hair fell down your back in perfect, glossy waves, and your lips were painted a sharp, bloody red. You looked absolutely stunning, like an untouchable queen—and a lethal weapon.

"You look like you're about to murder someone," your friend whispered, nudging your shoulder as she looked at your intense expression.

"Just taking out the trash," you replied smoothly. Your voice was calm, sweet, and entirely empty of warmth.

Your eyes scanned the crowded ballroom, moving past the dancing couples and the crying groups of friends, until they finally landed on the VIP lounge area in the back corner.

Jungkook was there. He was looking effortlessly handsome in a tailored black suit that made his broad shoulders look even wider. His white collared shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top, giving him that careless, arrogant bad-boy look he loved so much. His dark hair was styled perfectly, falling slightly into his eyes. Mingyu and Yugyeom were crowding around him, laughing loudly, drinking from crystal glasses, and slapping his back. They kept checking the silver watches on their wrists.

The three-week deadline was up tonight. The game was reaching its final seconds.

You watched from across the room as Yugyeom reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a sleek, heavy silver set of keys. It was the key to the vintage motorcycle Jungkook had been drooling over for months. Yugyeom handed them over with a smirk, shaking Jungkook’s hand.

Jungkook took the keys, his fingers wrapping around the silver metal. But he didn't look happy. He didn't look like a guy who had just won a massive bet. Instead, his face looked exhausted, his jaw tightly clenched as his dark eyes restlessly scanned the massive ballroom. He was looking for someone. He was looking for you.

When his eyes finally locked onto your emerald dress, he stopped breathing for a fraction of a second. The arrogant smirk on his face completely died.

You didn't look away. You held his intense gaze across the crowded room, slowly lifting your glass of champagne in a mocking, silent toast. A dangerous, beautiful smile spread across your red lips. Then, you turned on your heel, the silk of your dress whispering against your skin, and walked toward the large glass doors leading out to the grand outdoor terrace. You knew exactly what he would do. He was too proud, too angry, and too obsessed to stay inside. He would follow you like a dog on a leash.

The outdoor terrace was completely empty, cooled by the midnight breeze coming off the city streets below. The loud, pounding bass of the ballroom music became a distant hum behind the thick glass doors. The air out here was fresh, smelling of wet concrete and night air. You walked over to the edge, leaning your hands against the cold marble balustrade, looking out at the million blinking lights of the city skyline.

A few seconds later, the heavy glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and then closed again.

Heavy, confident footsteps echoed on the stone floor behind you. You didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. The sharp scent of his expensive, smoky cologne cut through the midnight air, wrapping around your senses. Jungkook stopped just a foot away from you, his presence immediately making the wide-open terrace feel suffocatingly small. His breathing was heavy, a chaotic mix of frustration, anger, and a deep, lingering desire radiating off his body.

"You've been avoiding me all night," Jungkook said. His voice was a low, rough growl that vibrated through the quiet air. He stepped closer, crowding your space, his large shadow completely falling over you. "Are you finally ready to admit defeat? The game is over tonight, sweetheart. Graduation is happening, and you're still standing next to me."

You let out a soft, melodic laugh. It was a cold, cruel sound that cut right through his confidence. You slowly turned around, resting your lower back against the marble railing, crossing your arms over your chest. You looked up at his handsome face, entirely unbothered, your expression full of brutal amusement.

"You're right, Jungkook. The game is over tonight," you said smoothly, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Did you enjoy your little victory lap with the boys inside? Did Yugyeom give you the shiny new keys to your motorcycle?"

Jungkook completely froze. The smug, arrogant look on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a rare flash of genuine, pale shock. His eyes widened, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, come on, Jeon. Did you really think you were that smart?" You took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you until the emerald silk of your gown was almost brushing against the dark fabric of his expensive suit. You looked up into his dark eyes through your eyelashes, your smile dripping with sweet, lethal poison. "I heard every single word of your pathetic little conversation on the beach house balcony three weeks ago. I knew about the motorcycle. I knew about the three-week deadline. I knew exactly what the ice queen was supposed to do."

Jungkook’s breath hitched loudly in his throat. For the first time since you had known him, he looked completely defenseless, his chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven movements. The terrifying realization was washing over him, painting his pale skin with panic. "You... you knew the whole time? From the very first day?"

"The entire time," you whispered, mocking him with your calm tone. "Every single word. Every cheesy compliment at the lockers, every stupid little date, every touch... I was playing along, Jungkook. You thought you were the predator at Westbridge High? You thought you were tracking a deer? You were my entertainment. I let you think you were winning because it was amusing to watch you try so hard. I let you touch me because I wanted to see how desperate and pathetic you would get. And look at you now."

You let your eyes travel down his suit, then back up to his face with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"You didn't win me, Jungkook. You didn't break the ice queen," you said, each word hitting him like a physical blow. "You ruined your own sanity for a piece of metal. I let you into my space because I wanted to destroy you. I loathe you, Jungkook. I always have, and I always will. You mean absolutely nothing to me."

Jungkook’s face contorted into an expression of pure, burning fury, mixed with something agonizingly raw, something that looked almost like heartbreak. His eyes turned incredibly dark, wild with a toxic mix of hatred and obsession. He couldn't handle it. His massive ego had just been shattered into a million pieces by the only girl he had ever actually cared about conquering.

With a low, angry sound, his hands shot out, his fingers locking tightly around your upper arms. He yanked you forward with a violent pull, crashing your body hard against his chest. The physical impact made you gasp, your hands automatically pressing against his lapels to keep yourself from suffocating under his weight.

"So it was all a lie?" Jungkook hissed, his face dropping down until his lips were inches from yours, his hot breath fanning across your skin. His grip on your arms was so tight it was going to leave bruises, but he didn't care. He was completely out of his mind with rage. "Everything we did? In the library stacks? In the janitor's closet? You're telling me you felt absolutely nothing when I was inside you?"

"I felt physical attraction, obviously. You're not bad to look at, Jeon," you shot back instantly, your voice remaining steady and cold, refusing to let him see the frantic, terrified pounding of your heart against your ribs. "But love? Affection? Connection? Don't be pathetic. It was just a game. And I won."

Jungkook let out a dark, broken laugh that sounded more like a sob of pure anger. He looked at you like he wanted to tear you apart, but at the same time, he looked like he wanted to swallow you whole. The physical tension between your bodies was heavy, thick, and completely suffocating, vibrating with an dangerous mix of revenge and a dark obsession that neither of you could kill.

"You think you won?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a terrifying, deep register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. He leaned down, his eyes burning into your soul with a promise of absolute destruction. "You think you can just walk away from this, put your little mask back on, and pretend I didn't ruin you for anyone else? You hate me? Good. Keep hating me, you beautiful, selfish brat. Because I'm going to make sure I'm the only thing you think about, the only name you scream, for the rest of your pathetic life."

Before you could open your mouth to scream another biting insult, he slammed his lips against yours.

The kiss was brutal, toxic, and utterly filled with a desperate need for revenge. There was absolutely no gentleness in it. He tasted like expensive liquor, mint, and pure desperation. He used his tongue to aggressively force his way inside your mouth, dominating you, punishing you for every single cold word you had just spoken to his face.

Your hands gripped the fabric of his suit jacket tightly, your fingers curling into the material as you tried to fight his weight, but your body was betraying you once again. The raw, violent chemistry between you two was too strong, too addictive.

You bit his lower lip hard, tasting the metallic tang of iron as blood broke on his skin, but Jungkook only groaned darkly into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening until he lifted your feet slightly off the stone floor, driving himself deeper into the kiss. It was a silent, desperate declaration that he would never let you go, even if it destroyed you both.

With a harsh, breathless gasp, you finally found the strength to forcefully shove his chest, tearing your lips away from his. You were both panting heavily, your chest heaving, your perfect red lipstick smeared across your mouth and his jaw. You looked at him with absolute, unyielding coldness, your eyes like two chips of ice in the moonlight.

"We are done, Jungkook," you said, your voice remarkably steady as you reached down to smooth the silk of your green gown, hiding the shaking of your hands. "Enjoy your motorcycle. You paid a very high price for it."

You turned around, not giving him another second of your time, and walked back toward the glass doors. You didn't look back as you slid the door open and stepped back into the warm, brightly lit ballroom, leaving Jeon Jungkook standing alone in the darkness of the terrace, his hands trembling and his chest heaving with a fury he couldn't escape.

An hour later, the graduation gala was finally winding down. The music had stopped, and the entire senior class was gathering in the massive, marble-floored lobby of the hotel, waiting for the final graduation announcements and saying their final goodbyes.

Suddenly, a loud, synchronized chorus of pings echoed through the entire lobby.

Almost every single student reached into their pockets, pulling out their phones as a mass text notification flashed on their screens. A mass message had just been sent to the entire Westbridge High student database from an untraceable, anonymous number.

You slowly pulled your phone from your small designer clutch, a vicious, deeply satisfied smile spreading across your lips as you looked down at the screen.

It was an audio file. Specifically, it was the crystal-clear, undeniable recording of Jungkook, Mingyu, and Yugyeom from three weeks ago at the beach house party.

The loud, arrogant voice of Jungkook echoed through hundreds of pairs of headphones and speakers across the lobby: "A month is too long. Give me three weeks. By graduation night, she’ll be begging me to be her boyfriend. The ice queen is going to melt, boys. Watch me."

The entire lobby went dead, terrifyingly silent. The laughter stopped. The crying stopped. Hundreds of heads slowly, deliberately turned to look at the entrance of the lobby, where Jungkook was standing with his hands in his pockets.

The whispers started instantly—sharp, judgmental, and mocking. In a matter of mere seconds, Jungkook’s carefully built, untouchable reputation as the flawless, dominant king of the school was utterly shattered. He wasn't the cool, mysterious bad boy anymore. He was exposed to the entire world as a tacky, desperate loser who used girls as playground bets to win a motorcycle.

Mingyu and Yugyeom looked panicked, their faces turning completely red as people started staring at them with disgust. But Jungkook didn't even reach for his phone. He didn't have to. He already knew exactly what it was.

He slowly turned his head, his dark, intense eyes moving across the crowded lobby, cutting through the sea of whispering students until they found yours. He knew exactly who did it. He knew this was your final, devastating stroke of revenge. You had let him believe he was winning, let him take his prize, and then you had publicly executed his social standing in front of everyone he knew.

You didn't hide. You stood directly under the massive, bright crystal chandelier in the center of the lobby, your green silk dress glowing under the light. You looked right back at him, your chin held high, a cold, triumphant smile plastered on your face. You had won. You had destroyed him.

But as Jungkook continued to stare at you across the silent room, his expression didn't change to shame. He didn't look defeated. He didn't look embarrassed.

Instead, a slow, incredibly dangerous, and terrifying smirk began to creep onto his bloody lips. His dark eyes flared with a new kind of hunger, a dark, promises-filled fire that made your blood run cold. He wasn't broken by your revenge. He was challenged. Your public betrayal hadn't pushed him away; it had only fueled the toxic fire inside him, turning his competitive bet into a permanent, deeply dangerous obsession.

This wasn't an ending. This was a brutal declaration of war.

You both knew that high school was officially over tonight. You both knew that college started in exactly two months. And most importantly, you both knew that you had both been accepted into the exact same elite university city campus. As you stared at each other across the ruined remnants of your high school social ladder, a chilling, addictive thrill rushed through your veins.

The high school game was finally finished, but the real, toxic war was about to begin. And neither of you had any intention of losing.

The heavy mahogany doors of the luxury hotel ballroom slammed shut behind you, cutting off the suffocating noise of the crowd. You stepped into the dim, deserted corridor that led to the private executive suites. The adrenaline that had carried you through the public exposure in the lobby was beginning to morph into something heavier, a thick, throbbing ache between your thighs and a wild, racing pulse that refused to slow down.

Before you could take another step, a hand clamped onto your wrist like a steel shackle.

You were violently yanked backward, your back hitting the plush wallpapered wall of the corridor with a soft thud. A massive, looming body immediately crowded you, cutting off all light and escape. The familiar, intoxicating scent of tobacco, dark whiskey, and expensive cedarwood flooded your senses.

Jungkook.

His jacket was gone, his white button-down shirt wrinkled and torn open at the collar, showing the frantic, heavy rise and fall of his chest. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. The muscle in his jaw was twitching violently, his teeth grinding together so hard you could hear it in the silence of the hallway. But beneath the rage, his eyes were wide, dark, and completely consumed by a terrifying, dangerous addiction.

He didn't look at you like he hated you. He looked at you like you were his oxygen, and you had just cut off the supply.

"You absolute bitch," he breathed, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sent a violent shiver down your spine. He leaned his face down, his nose almost brushing against yours, his hot, ragged breath hitting your lips. "You leaked it. You had the tape the entire time and you played me like a fucking fool."

You didn't flinch. You tilted your chin up, your emerald green dress shifting against his legs, your eyes wide and burning with your own defensive malice. "I told you, Jeon. You're a child playing a man's game. Did you think I was going to let you walk away with your pathetic little pride intact? I ruined you. Look at you. You’re nothing but a joke to the entire school now."

"You think I care about them?" Jungkook roared, his voice cracking with a sudden, raw vulnerability that shocked you. He slammed both palms against the wall on either side of your head, the sound echoing loudly in the narrow hallway. He was shaking. The untouchable, arrogant Jeon Jungkook was physically trembling with rage and desperation right in front of you. "You think I give a single fuck about a motorcycle or those idiots in the lobby? I was a fool because I thought I was the one pulling the strings. I was a fool because I actually believed you were letting your guard down for me."

He took a deep, ragged breath, his eyes dropping to your lips, dark and wild with an intense, agonizing craving.

"I’m addicted to you," he whispered, the admission sounding like a curse, torn directly from his throat. "I hate you so much it makes my blood burn, but I can't look at anyone else. I can't touch anyone else. You did this to me. You planned this whole thing to break my ego, and all it did was make me want to tear you to pieces."

A cruel, mocking smile spread across your red lips, though your heart was hammering so hard against your ribs it felt painful. "Then tear me to pieces, Jungkook. But you’ll still be the loser of this game."

Jungkook let out a feral, frustrated sound, completely pushed past his limit. He grabbed the front of your silk dress, his fingers bunching the green material tightly as he violently pulled you up against his body. He didn't ask. He didn't tease. He just conquered.

His mouth crashed down onto yours with a primitive, angry force that knocked the air straight out of your lungs.

The kiss was a war zone. It was rude, mean, and hundred times more vicious than anything you had shared in the dark corners of the school. He bit your lip hard, drawing blood instantly, his tongue forcing its way past your teeth to claim your mouth with a possessive, toxic hunger. You groaned against his mouth, the metallic taste of blood making your head spin, your hands shooting up to grip his hair, pulling him closer even as you tried to fight him off. You hated him. You truly, deeply despised his arrogance, but your body was completely screaming for his touch, melting against his hard chest with a desperate, heavy heat.

Jungkook didn't stop. He was completely out of his mind, driven by a chaotic mix of revenge, anger, and pure lust. He slid his large hand down the high slit of your dress, his rough palm scraping against the bare skin of your thigh. He gripped your hip tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks, and lifted your leg, wrapping it around his waist.

He pinned you against the wall with his hips, the hard, rigid length of him pressing directly against your soaked center through the layers of fabric. You let out a sharp, breathless gasp against his lips, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he began to grind his hips against yours in a heavy, torturous rhythm.

"You think you won because you exposed me?" Jungkook panted, tearing his mouth away from yours to bite down on the sensitive skin of your neck, his voice a dark, rough growl against your skin. "Look at you. You're begging for me. You're dripping wet for the guy you claim to loathe. We're both going to hell, sweetheart, and I'm dragging you down with me."

"Shut up," you hissed, your head rolling back against the wall as his mouth moved lower, his teeth grazing your collarbone. "Just... shut up and finish it."

"No," he whispered dangerously, his fingers sliding underneath the lace of your panties, finding your swollen, slick nub and rubbing it with a cruel, agonizingly slow pressure that made your vision instantly blur. You arched your back, a loud, helpless moan escaping your lips. Jungkook looked up at you, his dark eyes wide and filled with a sick, triumphant satisfaction. "I'm not going to make it easy for you. You want to hate me? Then hate me while I do this to you."

He added another finger, pushing deep inside your tight, wet heat, driving a frantic, breathless pace that had your body violently trembling in his arms. The physical tension between you was so high, so incredibly thick with malice and pure attraction, that every single touch felt like an explosion. You locked your arms around his neck, pulling his head back down to yours, drowning his arrogant smirk in another desperate, bruising kiss as your hips helplessly rolled against his hand, chasing the friction.

With one final, heavy press of his thumb against your center, your body completely fractured. A violent, shattering climax ripped through you, your internal walls clamping aggressively around his fingers as you let out a muffled scream into his shoulder.

Jungkook held you tightly against the wall, absorbing the frantic tremors of your body, his own breathing heavy, ragged, and completely broken. He didn't let you slide down. He kept you pinned there, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes looking down into your dazed, exhausted face.

The silence that followed was suffocating. There was no softness. There was no sweet afterglow. The air was still thick with an overwhelming sense of rivalry and revenge. You had exposed his secret, and he had exposed your desperation.

You slowly let your leg drop back to the floor, your hands releasing his shirt. You smoothed down your ruined dress, your expression instantly hardening back into that cold, untouchable mask of pure, unbothered malice. You wiped the blood from your lip with the back of your hand, looking at him like he was nothing more than dirt under your designer heels.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum, Jeon?" you said smoothly, your voice remarkably steady, cutting through the quiet hallway like ice. "Because I have a ride waiting."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened to a terrifying shade of black. The anger rushed right back into his face, his jaw clenching so hard a vein popped on his temple. He looked at you, his chest heaving, completely infuriated that even after this, you could still look at him with so much disrespect. He was a fool, he was an addict, and he was completely, utterly ruined by you.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous threat as he stepped back, his hands curling into tight fists. "You think you can just walk away and leave me like this? You think you can go to college in two months and pretend I don't exist?"

"I don't think, Jungkook. I know," you replied coldly, adjusting the strap of your dress as you turned away from him. "Enjoy your broken reputation. You earned every bit of it."

You began walking down the long corridor, the sharp click of your heels echoing against the walls, your head held high. You didn't look back. You didn't dare to.

Behind you, Jungkook stood in the middle of the empty hallway, his breathing still ragged, his body still aching with an unfulfilled, toxic desire. He stared at your retreating figure, a slow, deeply twisted, and dangerous smile spreading across his bloody lips. His eyes were wide with a manic, terrifying promise. He hated you with every single fiber of his being, but the thought of ever letting someone else have you made him want to burn the world down.

He didn't want to fix his reputation. He didn't want to win the bet anymore. He just wanted to conquer you, to break your cold pride until you were just as addicted and ruined as he was.

As you reached the exit doors, a sudden, heavy wave of competitive adrenaline rushed through your veins, making your skin tingle. You both knew what was coming in two months. You both knew you were heading to the same city, the same campus, the same elite circle.

This wasn't a fresh start, and it certainly wasn't a peaceful truce. It was a toxic, permanent tether. You were going to spend the next four years trying to destroy each other's lives, driven by a mutual, burning hatred that felt more intense, more consuming, and more violently addictive than any love story could ever be.

The war wasn't over. It had just gotten a thousand times meaner.

[jvngkolvr]

just added the rest of the character’s instagram’s and what their feed is looking like! will start working on chapter two soon but mama need a break she been working 😩😩😩

[jvngkolvr]

aguacero — eren yeager , mdni

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ chapter one ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ - smau, warning

[jvngkolvr]

first chapter of my first story ever!!!! lmk how you guys like it i was trying to finish it up as fast as i could and would even be working on while at work lol… i know the comments section is a bit confusing because it doesn’t show names but i promise to update my intro chapter and add what the other characters instagram’s look like 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

[jvngkolvr]

aguacero — eren yeager , mdni

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ chapter one ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ - smau, warning

[jvngkolvr]

aguacero • eren yeager

med student eren! x latina nursing student oc! SMAU + writing!

summary: during your last year at UCLA, your friend Connie and his frat hosted the first party of the semester. that night you met eren and ended up leaving his apartment the next morning with his number in your phone. ever since then, you both have been hooking up every now and then but eren refuses to commit into anything serious. so, what can you do? Move like him except better.

warnings: fwb to lovers, smut with plot, heartbreak, oc is a BADDIE and eren might not know how to handle all that, fighting, mentions of smoking and drinking, angst

Aguacero by Bad Bunny: aguacero refers to heavy rainstorm & he uses it as a metaphor for intense sexual passion, comparing the heat of a relationship to 90° and the resulting climax or downpour to a hundred

chapter one: https://www.tumblr.com/jvngkolvr/818235387840512001/aguacero-eren-yeager-mdni-%F0%93%8D%A2-chapter-one

chapter two: https://www.tumblr.com/jvngkolvr/818630552398839808/aguacero-eren-yeager-mdni-%F0%93%8D%A2-chapter-two

chapter three: https://www.tumblr.com/jvngkolvr/820897292776275968/aguacero-eren-yeager-mdni-%F0%93%8D%A2-chapter-three

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oc’s

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eren

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.°

mikasa

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armin

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.°

sasha

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.°

connie

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.°

jean

Porque yo soy un cuero 

Cause I’m a player

Y tú también, y tú también

and you arе too, you are too

Si el calor es de noventa

If the heat is at a ninety

El aguacero es de cien

the wetness is at a hundred

Vamo' a pasarla bien

Let’s have a good time

Pero dale easy, easy, ey

But go easy, easy, ayy

Que sabes que soy Pisci', ey

Cause you know I'm a Pisces, ayy

Y enamorarme es bien fácil, ey

And falling in love is too easy, ayyy

Pero olvidarme es difícil

But forgetting is difficult

[ggukiebar]

sex tape | j.jk

pairing: videographer jungkook x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: looking for a decent job, you stumbled upon jungkook’s job posting on instagram, what could go wrong?

warnings: playfuldom!jungkook x fem reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, pussy eating, edging, spitting, degradation, dirty talk, multiple positions, detailed smut, jk is very playful in a degrading way, oral sex, camera sex, pussy slapping, choking, praising, usage of slut, cum eating, marking, multiple orgasms, rough sex, crying, overstimulation, fingering, nipple spitting, penetrative sex, creampie.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

“How about being a barista again? There’s a job opening at Moonlit Cafe down the street,” Hari suggested while you sat hunched over your laptop, endlessly browsing through job postings.

You were still a student, graduating next year with bills clawing at your throat. When college started, you wanted independence so badly it ached beneath your skin. An apartment near the university. Your own keys. Your own groceries. Your own life.

Your parents had offered to cover everything without hesitation, gentle and loving as always, but guilt settled heavily in your chest whenever you thought about it. They were already paying your tuition fees. You wanted them to live comfortably too, without worrying about whether their daughter had enough money for rent or food. So you smiled and told them not to worry, drained your savings account for the apartment, and picked up multiple part-time jobs just to prove to yourself that you could survive on your own.

And for a while, you did.

The first two years of college went smoothly enough. You found decent jobs, saved enough money to live comfortably, and even bought yourself a flat-screen TV after months of careful budgeting. Your days blurred into exhausting routines—classes in the morning, shifts at the coffee shop at night, and weekends spent organizing shelves as a bookstore assistant.

You were tired all the time, but it was a satisfying kind of tired. The kind that made you feel accomplished. 

Independent. Adult.

Until the coffee shop let you go.

Budget cuts, they said apologetically, avoiding your eyes while handing you the notice. Part-time workers were the first to go.

You still had the bookstore job, but the pay barely stretched far enough to cover groceries, let alone rent, electricity, and university expenses. Asking your parents for help would’ve been easy—too easy—but stubbornness rooted itself deep inside you. There were thousands of job postings online. Surely one of them would take you.

Only they never called back.

Two months had passed, and your savings were bleeding out faster than you could stop them. Every day followed the same suffocating routine: school, assignments, cheap instant dinners, and hours of doom-scrolling through applications until your vision blurred from the brightness of your screen.

You groaned quietly, rubbing your tired eyes before glancing over at Hari, who sat cross-legged beside you on the couch with a milk tea in hand. She had shown up at your apartment earlier carrying takeout bags and your favorite boba, worry written plainly across her face after noticing how little you’d been eating lately.

“I already applied there,” you muttered with a pout, dragging your gaze back to the laptop. “But they want someone full-time.”

Hari sighed dramatically, setting her drink down on the coffee table. “You seriously need to rest. You’ve been staring at that thing for hours.”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your boba and pushed it into your hands. The cold plastic pressed against your palms pleasantly.

“Drink,” she ordered. “And let me do the scrolling before you spiral into another existential crisis.”

A laugh bubbled out of her as she pulled the laptop from your lap, and despite the anxiety twisting endlessly inside your chest, you felt your shoulders loosen just a little.

You pouted lightly, sipping your boba while Hari busied herself with your laptop. Your brows slowly furrowed when you noticed her opening tab after tab with alarming confidence.

“Why are you on Facebook?” you asked with a quiet chuckle, watching her click somewhere else before another page loaded. “And now Twitter? Instagram too?”

Hari rolled her eyes dramatically, her face illuminated by the screen’s pale glow. “Because the jobs on LinkedIn are painfully boring,” she scoffed. “There are tons of part-time job offers on social media. I swear I saw one yesterday.”

She narrowed her eyes at the laptop suspiciously, scrolling with the intensity of a detective solving a murder case.

A laugh escaped you as you leaned against her shoulder, chewing on the tapioca pearls you had missed more than you cared to admit. You’d been saving every spare dollar lately, cutting out small comforts one by one until even buying boba started to feel irresponsible.

“But you don’t even know if those are legit,” you pointed out, tilting your head at her. “The sites I applied to are safer from scams and stuff.”

“I know,” Hari replied instantly. “That’s why we’re looking for jobs with a pay-first policy if it’s online.” She clicked onto another account before adding casually, “And if it’s onsite, we’ll bring a gun in case things go wrong or something.”

You burst out laughing at that, nearly choking on your drink.

“Hari!”

“What?” she laughed too, grinning shamelessly. “I’m just being prepared.”

You shook your head at her usual nonsense, warmth blooming faintly in your chest despite the stress that had been suffocating you for weeks now. Hari always had a way of dragging you out of your own head, even if only for a little while.

The apartment suddenly felt less heavy with her around.

You were honestly relieved that semester break had finally arrived. One whole month without classes. No early morning lectures. No deadlines. No professors piling work onto your shoulders.

But instead of resting like a normal person, you had thrown yourself deeper into job hunting.

Hari hated that.

As your closest friend, she had spent the last week trying to convince you to take a break—to go shopping with the girls, take an out-of-town trip, do literally anything that didn’t involve staring at job applications until three in the morning.

You declined every single invitation.

Your friends understood your situation, but they also thought you were driving yourself insane. Which, honestly, you probably were.

That was exactly why Hari showed up tonight carrying your favorite food and overpriced boba tea, determined to drag you away from your spiral. She kept trying to tempt you into going on a girls’ trip with them, insisting that one weekend away wouldn’t kill you.

But every time you thought about relaxing, all you could picture were your bills piling quietly on the kitchen counter. So instead, you stayed curled up on the couch beside her, stubbornly searching for a job you desperately needed.

Hari was beginning to look almost as desperate as you. Maybe not for herself, but for you—for the way your shoulders had slowly grown heavier these past few months, for the exhaustion permanently shadowing your eyes. She wanted you to land a job already so you could finally breathe again without worrying about rent and unpaid bills swallowing you whole.

Which was exactly why she was now doom-scrolling through Twitter with frightening determination.

“I really don’t think you’re gonna find a job there,” you muttered skeptically, watching her open an alarming amount of random threads. “Most of those look like scams.”

“Wait, wait—look at this!”

Hari suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to the screen, quickly setting her milk tea down beside her like she was preparing for something serious.

Her eyes widened.

“Okay, this one actually looks promising.”

You leaned in slightly as she read aloud.

mnijungkook on ig posted: i’m looking for someone who can take insanely good videos and photos [of me]. i’ll somehow figure out the equipment myself..! please somehow reach out to me! lol, looking for someone to film for me, seriously. and if you’re good at editing too? let’s go on tour together

“There are so many likes and retweets,” Hari said immediately, already opening another tab to search for the original Instagram post. “This has to be legit.”

The second you recognized the username, you nearly choked on your drink.

Laughter burst out of you uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you clutched the cup tighter. Hari blinked at you in confusion while your eyes watered from laughing too hard.

“Hari,” you wheezed out, “That’s Jungkook.”

She stared blankly. “Huh? The boss?”

Another laugh escaped you.

Hari genuinely knew almost nothing about K-pop or Korean artists in general, and moments like this always reminded you just how different the two of you were.

Meanwhile, you had once been painfully obsessed.

You used to stay up until dawn watching livestreams, memorizing lyrics, collecting photocards you definitely couldn’t afford, and keeping up with every tiny update posted online. Back then, being a fan felt like a second full-time job.

But life eventually became busier.

School consumed your mornings, work consumed your nights, and somewhere in between surviving deadlines and paying bills, your fangirl phase quietly faded into the background. You still listened to their music almost daily, still smiled whenever one of their songs shuffled into your playlist, but you no longer kept up with every post or appearance the way you once did.

You guessed you had simply grown up.

Even so, seeing Jungkook casually asking for a videographer and editor on Instagram felt surreal enough to make you laugh all over again.

Not updated enough to know that Jungkook was apparently posting job offers on Instagram now. Or that he was even on tour.

“No,” you laughed, shaking your head as you finally calmed down a little. “That’s Jungkook. From BTS. They’re, like… insanely famous, Hari. This is probably some kind of joke or publicity thing.”

Hari’s brows knitted together in confusion before realization slowly dawned across her face. She clicked onto the Instagram profile, eyes widening at the blue verification check and the terrifying number of followers sitting beneath his username.

Nearly thirty million.

“Ohhh, BTS,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Wait—I think I’ve seen him before.” She squinted at one of the photos. “Wasn’t he in a Calvin Klein ad or something?”

You snorted. “Yeah. That’s him.”

Honestly, you expected her to laugh it off after realizing who posted it. Maybe call the idea ridiculous and move on to another job listing.

Instead, Hari clicked onto his Instagram story again with alarming seriousness.

“That means…” she trailed off.

“It’s probably a joke,” you interrupted immediately.

“This is good pay,” she said at the exact same time, eyes practically glittering now.

Before you could stop her, she pressed the reply button beneath the story.

Your lips parted slightly. You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being serious or completely delusional right now. Probably both. But either way, you let her continue typing because there was absolutely no chance Jungkook himself would ever see it.

He probably received thousands of messages every minute. Millions, even.

The thought alone felt ridiculous.

“Whatever,” you muttered with a helpless chuckle, giving up entirely. “I’m heating up the rice bowl.”

Hari waved you off distractedly, already multitasking between your laptop and her phone like this had suddenly become her personal mission.

You shook your head fondly before standing from the couch, grabbing the takeout container she bought earlier. The apartment filled with the quiet hum of the microwave a moment later, warm light spilling across the tiny kitchen while Hari continued aggressively applying for a job that definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent was never going to happen.

-

You woke up to the shrill sound of your alarm, already preparing yourself for another long day of job hunting.

Hari went home late last night after spending an absurd amount of time DMing Jungkook and scrolling through social media for more “opportunities,” as she called them. Somewhere between laughing at ridiculous job listings and sharing takeout on your couch, the two of you ended up watching an old Disney movie to help you relax.

She still tried convincing you to go on the girls’ out-of-town trip. You still refused.

No matter how badly you wanted a break, your priorities were painfully clear right now. You needed stability first. A stable paycheck. A stable life. Then maybe you could afford to breathe.

After showering, you made yourself a decent cup of coffee and opened your laptop with a tired sigh, mentally preparing to send out another batch of applications that probably wouldn’t get answered.

Then your phone buzzed beside you. An Instagram notification lit up the screen.

You snorted softly to yourself. “This must be Jungkook,” you joked under your breath, absentmindedly opening the app.

What the fuck.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the message sitting in your inbox. The coffee suddenly tasted bitter in your mouth.

What the actual fuck?

“Hari!” you practically shrieked the second she answered your call. “Fuck! I don’t even edit videos! I only know basic stuff! I can’t even record properly without my hands shaking!”

You paced around your apartment while panicking into the phone, one hand gripping your hair as you reread the messages over and over again in disbelief.

Sometime after you went to the kitchen last night, Hari had apparently taken it upon herself to completely ruin your life.

She sent Jungkook your entire curriculum vitae.

Not only that—she also wrote and attached a full cover letter explaining why he should hire you.

The realization alone nearly made you pass out.

And when you discovered she had changed your insta profile picture into a formal-looking one while you weren’t paying attention?

You almost laughed and cried at the same time.

It genuinely looked like you had desperately prepared for this opportunity your entire life.

Your eyes skimmed through the cover letter again, horror slowly mixing with something embarrassingly emotional. Hari had written your entire backstory in there—about struggling financially, balancing school and work, trying to stay independent despite everything.

And then she started lying. Blatantly.

Apparently, according to Hari, you were “highly skilled in video editing” with “experience in cinematography.”

Cinematography my ass.

“Hehe… well,” Hari giggled shamelessly through the phone, completely unbothered by your spiraling. Noise echoed behind her, voices and music blending together enough for you to realize she was already with the girls on their trip. “You have to fake a few things to get accepted sometimes, right?”

“Ugh, I can’t do this!” you cried dramatically, pacing back and forth around your apartment while gripping your phone tightly. “I literally don’t know anything about filming! And what if he sues me for faking my skills? He’s famous and influential, Hari!”

Your eyes darted back toward your laptop sitting open on the table, Jungkook’s message glowing on the screen like a ticking time bomb ready to ruin your entire life.

Hari only laughed harder through the call.

“Girl, just try!” she said between giggles. “Watch a tutorial on YouTube or something. Besides…” her tone suddenly turned suspiciously persuasive, “It’s really good pay.”

“Hari!” you screamed again, horrified.

“God, I still can’t believe he actually replied to you,” she continued teasingly. “You must’ve impressed him with your amazing cinematography skills.”

You groaned so loudly you nearly scared yourself.

The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong about the pay.

Your eyes had nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the amount attached to the offer. There were so many zeros that your brain genuinely short-circuited for a moment.

That was exactly why you couldn’t let it go.

Out of everyone who probably replied to his story, Jungkook somehow answered you. 

You. The probability alone felt absurd.

Thousands of people would kill for this opportunity right now, and meanwhile you were pacing around your apartment like you were preparing for a court trial instead of a job offer.

At first, the teenage fangirl buried deep inside you nearly exploded from excitement. The situation dragged you back to years ago—staying up until four in the morning streaming music videos, binge-watching funny compilations, memorizing choreography you could never actually dance, spending money you absolutely shouldn’t have spent on albums and photocards.

Back then, BTS had practically consumed your life. But time passed.

Somewhere between work shifts, college deadlines, and trying to survive adulthood, you slowly stopped keeping up with them. You still listened to the music, of course, but you no longer knew where they were, what they were doing, or how much they had changed over the years.

Curiosity eventually got the better of you. So you stalked Jungkook’s Instagram a little.

And oh.

Oh, he had changed.

A full sleeve of tattoos now wrapped around his right arm, dark ink decorating skin that used to be bare. Silver piercings glinted against his face in ways that somehow suited him unfairly well. His frame had broadened too, shoulders stronger, body lean and built with the kind of maturity that made him almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered.

You were used to soft brown hair, oversized hoodies, black skinny jeans, clean arms, and those wide doe-like eyes that made the entire internet lose their minds.

Now he looked mature. Sharper. More dangerous somehow.

A man instead of a boy. And annoyingly enough, it looked really good on him.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, finally realizing you’d been staring at a motorcycle video he posted for far too long.

You immediately locked your phone and pressed it dramatically against your forehead.

“I cannot fangirl right now or I’m seriously gonna lose it.”

Hari kept telling you to just go for it. “You literally have a whole month off from school,” she argued over the phone while you spiraled for the hundredth time. “This is basically the perfect sideline job.”

Sideline job. As if working for Jungkook of BTS was equivalent to tutoring kids after class.

Your stomach twisted anxiously as you stared at the message again. Every second that passed made you feel like the opportunity was slipping farther away. With the amount of people probably flooding his inbox right now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t change his mind the moment someone actually qualified replied to him.

Your eyes skimmed over his message again, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast.

mnijungkook: hey, i saw your cv ㅎㅎ you really didn’t have to explain everything, but i’m glad you did. i can tell you’re being genuine about this. even without samples, the way you talked about cinematography/editing made me feel like you actually care about it and pay attention to details. sometimes that matters more to me than someone trying too hard to look “professional”

also i get the whole semester break thing. a month is still enough time to try something fun and see if we work well together

don’t stress too much about equipment either because i barely know what i’m doing there yet lol

for payment, don’t worry. if you end up coming with me, i’ll make sure you’re paid well — probably around $20-30k usd for the month depending on the schedule + travel and hotel covered. 

send me your contact info? we can talk more properly :))

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I am not passionate about cinematography,” you nearly whimpered to yourself, dropping your face into your hands. “To hell with cinematography.”

The amount of lies in Hari’s cover letter was genuinely evil.

And now Jungkook thought you were some hidden creative genius with an artistic eye and a deep love for filmmaking when in reality you barely knew how to stabilize a phone camera.

You felt sick.

But then your eyes drifted back to the payment offer. Twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Travel covered. Hotels covered. Your bank account practically screamed at you to shut up and take the opportunity.

So with trembling fingers and the overwhelming sensation that you were actively ruining your own life, you began typing a reply. A reply that dug your grave even deeper.

You agreed with him. You agreed that you were a “good editor.”

You added your contact details while simultaneously praying that YouTube tutorials could somehow transform you into a professional videographer overnight.

Your fingers hovered above the send button before you forced yourself to press it.

You: thank you so much for even considering me :D i really do believe i’m a good editor, especially when it comes to making things feel natural and cinematic instead of overdone. 

i’d genuinely love to work for you if you’ll have me. i’m willing to learn fast, adjust to whatever style you want, and work hard during the whole month of my semester break.

my contact details are below, thank you so much!

The message was sent instantly.

You stared at the screen in silence afterward, horror slowly settling into every inch of your body.

Yeah. You were doomed.

-

“Wow, what the hell.” Your eyes widened the second you stepped into the hotel room Jungkook had booked for you.

The past few days had moved so fast it almost gave you whiplash. After you sent your contact details, Jungkook immediately messaged you about schedules, filming dates, locations, and travel arrangements as if hiring strangers from Instagram was a completely normal thing for him to do.

Everything had already been prepared before you could even panic properly.

Your plane ticket? Booked.

Hotel room? Paid for.

Transportation? Arranged.

Food allowance? Included.

All you had to do was pack your bags and somehow learn how to film and edit professionally before embarrassing yourself on an international scale.

Easy.

“I am so spoiled,” you muttered in disbelief, slowly stepping farther into the room. It was huge.

Bigger than huge, honestly. The hotel suite looked almost the size of your apartment back home, warm lighting spilling across polished floors and neatly arranged furniture that looked far too expensive for you to even breathe near.

Then your attention landed on the large table sitting near the windows. And your soul nearly left your body.

Equipment. So much fucking equipment.

Two massive black cameras rested neatly beside a smaller handheld one. There was an iPad, a laptop, tripods, microphones, chargers, lighting equipment, and cables so intimidating they looked like they belonged inside a spaceship instead of a filming setup.

Your luggage slipped from your fingers onto the floor with a dull thud as you walked toward the table cautiously, like the devices might explode if you touched them incorrectly.

Your eyes widened even more.

For the past several days, you have been desperately teaching yourself how to edit videos and film cinematic shots. Watching tutorials until sunrise. Memorizing transitions. Learning random camera terms you barely understood.

But you had been practicing with your phone. Your fucking phone.

Meanwhile these cameras looked expensive enough to pay your rent for the next ten years.

You carefully picked one up with both hands, terrified you’d somehow damage it through sheer incompetence alone.

Honestly, you were still shocked Jungkook never asked for samples of your work.

If he had, your career would’ve ended immediately.

The only thing you could’ve shown him was a mediocre CapCut edit with dramatic black-and-white filters slapped over it to make it look “cinematic.”

You groaned loudly, dropping your forehead against the edge of the table.

“Oh my God,” you whispered into the expensive wood. “I’m actually a fraud.”

You nearly lost balance holding the enormous camera in your hands, quickly tightening your grip before your entire future shattered onto the hotel floor in high definition. “Woah, this is heavy.”

Your eyes stayed locked on the equipment nervously as you adjusted the strap around your wrist, trying your best to look like someone who actually knew what they were doing. Because if Jungkook realized how painfully inexperienced you were, he might personally send you back to your country on the next available flight.

You wouldn’t even blame him. The past few nights had been brutal.

You barely slept at all, surviving almost entirely on instant noodles, caffeine, and pure fear while desperately teaching yourself editing techniques through YouTube tutorials. Your laptop had become an extension of your body at this point, constantly running sample footage you filmed around your apartment just so you could practice transitions, lighting adjustments, stabilization, and color grading.

You even studied Jungkook’s editing style specifically.

The pacing of his vlogs.

The soft cinematic filters.

The random zoom-ins.

The casual, natural feeling of the clips.

You analyzed everything like your life depended on it because technically, your rent kind of did. You were getting paid for this. A ridiculous amount, too.

And there was absolutely no way you could afford getting exposed now.

“Okay…” you muttered slowly while fiddling with the camera settings. “This is kinda… easy?”

You said it more like a question than a statement. Still, you forced yourself to keep going.

You searched up tutorials for the exact camera model, watched setup guides, practiced adjusting focus and lighting, and filmed random clips around the room like an aspiring film student fighting for survival.

At some point, you even started taking artistic shots of your coffee cup near the hotel window. For practice, obviously.

Tomorrow was your first official filming day.

According to the schedule Jungkook emailed you earlier, you’d be accompanying him to a golf activity before the concert. He wanted behind-the-scenes footage for the fans—small moments throughout the day, casual interactions, preparations before performing.

And apparently that was only the beginning. Over the next few days, you’d also be filming soundchecks, backstage moments, errands, workouts, rehearsals, and random snippets of his daily routine while on tour.

Basically, your entire existence now revolves around documenting Jungkook’s life aesthetically.

No pressure.

You used his latest vlog as your main reference while practicing, pausing every few seconds to study angles and editing choices carefully. Honestly, the style itself wasn’t impossible to recreate. It leaned more natural than overly polished, which helped calm your nerves slightly.

The problem was you. You weren’t skilled.

And the more you thought about his expectations, the more your stomach twisted itself into knots.

But backing out wasn’t an option anymore.

Not after the cover letter.

Not after the hotel.

Not after the plane ticket.

Definitely not after seeing the paycheck.

So instead of panicking yourself into quitting, you threw every ounce of energy into learning. Practicing. Training.

Like you were preparing for the Olympics instead of secretly faking your way into being Jungkook’s videographer.

You almost had a heart attack when your phone suddenly buzzed while you were testing the cameras.

The heavy device nearly slipped straight out of your hands as Jungkook’s name flashed across the screen.

Your pulse instantly skyrocketed.

Jungkook: hey, i left all the equipment on the table in your hotel room because i had to leave early for rehearsal. camera batteries are charging already, memory cards are inside the small black case, and i think i accidentally tangled all the wires together so… good luck with that honestly ㅎㅎ

there’s also a pass hanging on the chair for backstage access. don’t lose it or my manager’s gonna kill me lol

take your time checking everything first before we head out tomorrow. and if anything’s confusing just call me :))

You stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary, a smile unconsciously pulling at your lips.

His personality somehow translated perfectly even through text messages alone—easygoing, playful, ridiculously approachable despite being one of the biggest celebrities in the world.

It reminded you exactly why he used to be your ultimate bias years ago. There was something naturally charming about him. Something warm.

You quickly typed a reply before you could overthink it too much.

You: yes! i am checking them out hehe.. the batteries are currently charging, the cards are safe, and i’m currently fighting for my life trying to untangle these wires hahaha

good luck with rehearsal!! see you tomorrow!

The second you pressed send, immediate regret flooded your body. You stared at your message in horror.

Why did I sound like that?

Your cheeks burned violently as you reread the multiple “hehe’s” and unnecessary laughter typed into the conversation like a teenager texting her crush for the first time.

You physically covered your face with your hands.

“Oh my God,” you groaned into your palms. It wasn’t like you were trying to flirt. 

Or maybe… just a little bit.

Which honestly made the situation infinitely worse.

You used to be an incredibly dedicated ARMY once upon a time, and frankly, this entire situation was making your heart malfunction.

Working for Jungkook.

Texting Jungkook.

Meeting Jungkook.

It all felt unreal in the most dangerous way possible.

But you forced yourself to set the fangirl part aside before it completely consumed you. You needed to stay professional. Calm. Composed.

Otherwise, you were genuinely convinced you’d suffer a stroke before filming a single decent piece of content for him.

So instead of spiraling, you spent the entire night practicing.

Testing the cameras.

Learning the settings.

Adjusting lighting.

Checking the microphones repeatedly to make sure the audio sounded clean.

You edited random sample clips until your eyes burned from exhaustion, determined to familiarize yourself with the equipment enough to at least fake confidence tomorrow.

And somehow, by pure fear-driven determination alone, morning arrived faster than expected.

You woke up early to practice filming one last time before leaving, moving around the hotel room with nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. You were oddly dedicated now—almost desperate—to prove that hiring you wasn’t a mistake.

After showering, you dressed carefully in clothes that screamed “professional videographer” despite the fact that you absolutely were not one.

A black long-sleeved polo, dark slacks and black shoes. You even tied your hair back neatly, staring at yourself in the mirror afterward like you were about to infiltrate the FBI instead of filming golf content.

A knock sounded at your hotel door.

“Good day, Ms. Y/N. Are you ready?”

You immediately straightened up before opening it, greeted by one of the bodyguards Jungkook assigned to escort you. His black shades reflected your visibly nervous expression back at you.

“Yes,” you answered quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Before leaving, you double-checked everything one last time—the batteries, memory cards, laptop, chargers—making sure nothing important was missing before following the bodyguard downstairs.

Outside, a sleek black car waited for you.

Your heartbeat quickened the moment you stepped inside.

You were scheduled to arrive an hour earlier than Jungkook so you could prepare the equipment and set everything up properly before filming started. Which meant you had an entire hour alone to panic in peace. 

The ride itself was painfully quiet. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the car while city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Your hands rested stiffly over your bag, fingers nervously tapping against the expensive camera inside while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.

You swallowed hard. “I can do this,” you whispered quietly to yourself.

Though honestly, you sounded unconvinced. The moment the golf course entrance came into view, your stomach twisted so violently you almost gagged.

Oh God. This was actually happening.

The bodyguard escorted you inside shortly after, guiding you toward the smaller private golf area before leaving you alone to prepare your setup.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

You slowly placed the equipment down, inhaling deeply as the morning breeze brushed against your face. The golf course stretched beautifully beneath the early sunlight, calm and expensive and intimidating all at once.

And somewhere in the middle of unpacking tripods with trembling hands, one horrifying realization settled heavily into your chest.

Soon, Jungkook was going to arrive.

You looked around quietly, taking in the golf course while trying to calm the violent beating of your heart.

The place felt tucked away from the rest of the world somehow—small, peaceful, almost unreal in its stillness. Unlike the massive championship courses you usually saw online, this one felt more intimate. The holes were laid out closer together across smooth fairways trimmed so perfectly they looked like green velvet beneath the morning sun.

Small sand bunkers curved around the landscape, soft hills rolling gently beneath clean white flags planted in the distance.

No screaming crowds. No cameras flashing endlessly. Just the distant rustling of trees, the muted hum of golf carts somewhere farther away, and every now and then, the satisfying thunk of a golf club striking a ball cleanly through the air.

Though, it would’ve been relaxing if you weren’t moments away from throwing up from anxiety.

Your hands were already sweaty as you unpacked the equipment carefully, trying not to look like you had absolutely no clue what you were doing. You adjusted the camera repeatedly, searching for decent angles while silently thanking every higher power possible that there weren’t many people around.

Only a few locals occupied the course, minding their own business.

Good.

Less witnesses for your downfall.

You became so focused on testing camera movements and practicing steady shots that you completely failed to notice someone approaching behind you.

It wasn’t until you angled the camera upward during practice that your soul nearly exited your body.

Jungkook stood directly in frame, smiling right into the lens. Your heart stopped.

“Hi,” he greeted warmly, amusement flickering across his face as he glanced at the camera in your hands. “Looks like you’re having fun already.”

A black sports bag rested beside your equipment now, meaning he must’ve walked over while you were too busy pretending to be a professional filmmaker to notice.

Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God—”

You almost tripped over your own feet while hurriedly lowering the camera, panic rushing through your body all at once.

“I was just, um—checking the angles,” you explained nervously, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward. “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N.”

You quickly wiped your damp palms against your slacks before offering your hand to him politely.

Up close, he somehow looked even more unreal. Tall, broad-shouldered, with beautiful tattoos curling around his arm, silver piercings catching the sunlight softly whenever he smiled.

And unfortunately for your sanity, he was even more handsome in person. Ridiculously so. The kind of handsome that made it difficult to think properly when he looked at you for too long.

He chuckled softly before taking your hand in his. His grip was warm. 

Your brain short-circuited immediately.

Dressed in a fitted white polo shirt and black Nike shorts, a black cap resting low over his dark hair in a way that somehow made him look both ridiculously expensive and effortlessly casual at the same time.

The shirt did absolutely nothing to hide how built he was.

You could see the outline of his muscles beneath the fabric every time he moved, his shoulders broad enough to almost completely block the sunlight from where you stood.

“Hello,” he said warmly, shaking your hand once. “I’m Jungkook. Nice to meet you too.” Your cheeks instantly burned.

Seeing him through a screen was one thing. Seeing him in person felt entirely different.

He was so much more charismatic up close it almost irritated you. His bunny teeth peeked out whenever he smiled, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners while he spoke in that easy, friendly tone that made it impossible not to relax around him.

His entire aura felt bright somehow. Light. Dangerously charming.

You were absolutely screwed.

“I’ll leave the filming techniques up to you,” he continued casually, walking over toward the cooler nearby. “Feel free to film me however you want. No pressure.”

No pressure.

As if your nervous system wasn’t already collapsing in on itself.

He grabbed a cold bottle of water before offering another one toward you naturally, like this entire situation wasn’t surreal at all.

“Thank you,” you answered quickly, taking the bottle before immediately setting it aside again. “Uh—I’ll start filming now!”

You lifted the camera again with almost aggressive determination, eager to gather as much footage as possible. More clips meant more editing options later. More editing options meant a smaller chance of exposing yourself as a complete fraud.

Jungkook raised an amused brow at your sudden seriousness, his gaze briefly traveled over your outfit before returning to your face.

“You sure?” he asked lightly. “You don’t wanna eat first? I still have to stretch and stuff anyway.”

You shook your head immediately. “Nope.”

Your grip tightened around the camera slightly. “I wanna include behind-the-scenes snippets too, so…” you explained, trying your best to sound professional despite your racing heart. “This would actually be good footage.”

The determination in your voice made Jungkook smile again. And for some reason, that tiny look of approval made your stomach flip harder than it should have.

Jungkook chuckled softly. “Alright,” he said easily. “Just tell me if you need specific details or angles.”

Then he walked toward the side of the golf course to begin stretching.

You immediately followed after him with the camera clutched in your hands exactly the way you practiced all night, quickly pressing record before your nerves could stop you.

At first, things seemed to be going surprisingly well. You filmed everything.

His warm-ups were slow, deliberate—like he was already in control of everything around him.

The way he adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. The subtle flex of his arms as he set up his iron, muscles shifting beneath fabric like something effortless and practiced. The clean, confident swing of the club cutting through air before striking the ball with a sharp, satisfying sound. The soft crunch of grass beneath his shoes as he shifted his stance, grounding himself between each shot.

Then the stillness between it all.

Him sitting down beneath the shade, momentarily retreating from the sun. Him lifting a bottle of water to his lips, throat moving as he drank, the back of his hand brushing sweat away from his neck without much thought.

You practically documented his entire existence.

At one point, you even almost followed him toward the restroom before your brain caught up with your body at the last second.

You genuinely thought you were doing an amazing job.

From your perspective, more footage meant more options later during editing. You didn’t want to miss a single moment that could potentially look cinematic or useful.

But from Jungkook’s perspective… It was a little concerning.

At first, he simply watched quietly. He noticed the small mistakes immediately—the way you held the camera too stiffly sometimes, the awkward adjustments of the lens, the shaky transitions between movements.

Still, he tried convincing himself that maybe you were just getting comfortable with the equipment. Maybe you simply needed time.

But as the day continued, realization slowly settled in. Especially when he caught you aggressively zooming into completely unnecessary details before quickly rotating the lens too fast, creating footage that would probably look dizzying when played back.

Beginner.

The word settled into his thoughts almost instantly. You followed him everywhere with unwavering focus, constantly checking the framing, adjusting settings, filming from different angles even when your hands visibly started struggling beneath the camera’s weight.

By the time he returned from the restroom later that afternoon, he paused slightly at the sight of you near the equipment table.

You were rotating your shoulders carefully with a tired grimace, trying to ease the soreness from carrying the camera all day. Sweat clung lightly against your forehead beneath the heat of the sun, and your fingers looked faintly red from gripping the equipment for hours.

Still, the moment you noticed him approaching again, you instinctively reached for the camera.

“I think you have enough footage for today,” Jungkook said quietly before you could pick it up again.

His voice carried something firmer now. Your hands froze mid-motion.

You blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the camera. “But you’re not done yet.”

He was still in the middle of playing. There were still shots left, more footage you could take, more angles you could practice.

But instead of continuing, Jungkook simply placed the iron back onto the rack with a quiet sigh.

Something about his body language had changed. Subtle, but noticeable.

The playful brightness from earlier dimmed slightly, exhaustion settling into the slope of his shoulders as he rubbed the back of his neck.

And suddenly, anxiety crept beneath your skin.

Was he disappointed?

The answer was yes. Not angry—he wasn’t angry. But disappointed enough to realize the truth little by little throughout the day.

You don’t have any clue on what you were doing.

The way you handled the camera, the inconsistent framing, the random zoom-ins, the awkward adjustments every few seconds—it was painfully obvious that you were inexperienced.

And for a brief moment, ugly thoughts crossed his mind despite himself.

He trusted you.

Even without polished sample reels or impressive portfolios, he still chose to trust you. Your cover letter had been painfully sincere, especially the part about wanting independence. Wanting to do things on your own so you wouldn’t burden your parents. Wanting to make them proud. Wanting to stand on your own feet.

That part stayed with him longer than it should have.

A lot of people sent him impressive applications. High-quality edits. Cinematic videos. Professional portfolios crafted carefully to catch his attention. Thousands of direct messages flooded his account constantly, most of them blending together into meaningless noise after a while.

But yours stood out somehow.

Maybe it was the formal profile picture that made him laugh- looked strangely earnest among the endless stream of unserious messages. Maybe it was the desperation hidden between your carefully written sentences. Or maybe it was simply because your letter resonated with him more than he expected it to.

He understood that kind of desperation.

That overwhelming need to prove yourself to the world.

He had been independent from a young age too, forced to grow up far earlier than most people ever had to. He knew what it felt like to carry pressure so heavy it started shaping the person you became.

But still—

Maybe you lied just to get close to him.

Maybe you wanted the money.

Maybe you were just another person trying to take advantage of him somehow.

God knew he had already met far too many people like that.

But every time those thoughts surfaced, they disappeared almost instantly the second he looked at you again.

Because you were trying so hard. Too hard, honestly.

The determination written across your face all day felt painfully genuine, from the way you followed him around with aching arms to the sweat gathering near your forehead while you forced yourself to keep filming despite your obvious exhaustion.

You looked less like a manipulative opportunist and more like someone desperately trying not to fail.

Still, disappointment lingered quietly beneath his ribs. A dull ache he couldn’t quite shake away no matter how sincere you looked trying to impress him.

And instead of sending you home immediately, another thought slowly crept into his mind.

Something dangerous.

Something mean.

Something dirty enough to make his pulse slow.

He wanted to punish you for it.

Not enough to truly hurt you—never that—but enough to make you understand exactly what happened when you lied to him. Enough to leave you breathless beneath the weight of his attention, overwhelmed by the consequences of trying to fool him so boldly.

Jungkook had always been competitive for a reason.

He hated losing, hated being made a fool of.

And now that you had managed to slip past his guard so easily, there was no way he was letting you walk away untouched by it.

Oh, he was going to have so much fun with you.

“I wanna film something,” he finally said instead, voice quieter now. More serious.

Your breath caught slightly at the sudden change in tone. The warmth from earlier had faded into something calmer. Harder to read.

“Oh,” you answered softly, momentarily caught off guard. “Okay! What kind of content?”

You quickly stood up and began fixing the equipment into your bags, noticing him grab his car keys from beside his sports bag.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, before turning toward the exit.

Your own brows furrowed in confusion. The schedule he sent clearly stated golf content for today. Nothing else.

Still, you followed him quietly anyway. When he told you to ride with him instead of the escort vehicle, your confusion deepened even more, though you didn’t question it aloud. Maybe he wanted driving footage or some cinematic clips for the vlog.

That had to be it.

Your heart thumped nervously as you climbed into his car beside him, immediately noticing how sleek and absurdly expensive the interior looked. The soft scent of fresh mint lingered in the air, clean and comforting somehow.

The realization that you were sitting inside Jungkook’s car with Jungkook himself nearly made your soul leave your body.

Your hands instinctively reached toward the camera bag.

“No,” Jungkook chuckled softly the moment he noticed. “You’re not gonna film here, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl.

Your entire brain stopped functioning. Heat rushed violently into your cheeks as you slowly pulled your hands away from the bag.

“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Okay…”

You bit your lip afterward, turning slightly toward the window to hide your expression while curiosity twisted tighter inside your chest.

Where exactly was he taking you?

The moment you saw the familiar hotel building come into view through the windshield, confusion settled deeper into your chest.

You followed Jungkook quietly through the lobby, nerves buzzing beneath your skin with every step.

He had gone strangely quiet after golf. Still calm, still composed—but not as bright as before. The easy smiles disappeared, replaced by something heavier lingering beneath his expression, and it made your stomach tighten painfully.

“Uhm…” you started carefully while standing beside him inside the elevator. “Are you gonna get a few more cameras or something?”

The elevator doors slid shut. Jungkook glanced at you briefly, his doe eyes half-lidded in a way that made your throat suddenly feel dry.

“Take a guess.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Something about his tone made nervousness crawl violently through your body. And when the elevator finally opened onto your floor, Jungkook grabbed your wrist without warning.

You gasped softly, he dragged you out impatiently, long strides carrying the two of you quickly down the hallway toward your hotel room. His grip wasn’t painful, but firm enough to make your pulse race uncontrollably beneath your skin.

By the time you stopped in front of your door, your mind was already spiraling. Jungkook looked down at you expectantly, his pupils dilated, still holding your wrist while waiting for you to unlock the room.

Did he figure it out? The thought struck so hard your chest physically tightened.

Your fingers trembled slightly while pulling out the keycard. Guilt flooded your system all at once, thick and suffocating.

You were scared.

Scared he’d yell at you. Scared he’d confiscate the equipment. Scared he’d have you booked on the next flight home before you even had a chance to explain yourself.

Completely unaware of the way his dark, playful mind worked. Completely unaware of how badly he wanted to punish you.

“Jungkook, I—”

But the words died immediately when he walked past you instead.

He took the camera bag from your hands and moved straight toward the table, pulling out the camera you used earlier before checking the rest of the equipment you left behind.

You blinked in confusion. Huh?

Jungkook grabbed another camera calmly before setting up one of the tripods with practiced ease. The way his fingers moved across the equipment was fast and precise, adjusting settings effortlessly while rotating the camera into position like second nature. His shoulders flexed beneath the white polo each time he lifted the tripod, veins bulging faintly along his tattooed forearms while he fixed the lighting behind it.

Your lips parted slightly without meaning to. He looked ridiculously good doing something as simple as setting up cameras.

“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, confused.

Jungkook glanced back at you over his shoulder while tightening something near the tripod head.

“Sit on the bed for me.”

Your stomach flipped violently. “H-Huh? I mean okay,” you answered quietly, swallowing hard before slowly moving toward the bed.

You sat carefully near the edge while watching him continue adjusting the setup.

With one hand alone, Jungkook lifted the heavy tripod effortlessly and positioned it directly in front of the bed, angling the camera downward toward where you sat.

The veins along his arms flexed again beneath the strain.

Your throat went completely dry. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before.

Hotter too.

You watched silently as he grabbed another tripod, this time placing it to the right side of the bed. Both cameras pointed directly at you now. And for some reason, the sight made your heartbeat pound harder than ever before.

He looked through the camera lens carefully, head tilting slightly as he adjusted the angle. “Lay down on the bed.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “What—”

“Lay down.” he commanded sharply.

This time, his tone came out firmer. Serious. Leaving absolutely no room for argument.

And somehow, the way he looked at you through the camera lens sent a sharp shiver crawling down your spine.

To your own horror, excitement slowly started mixing with the fear curling inside your stomach.

You almost wanted to slap yourself for it.

You swallowed hard before slowly slipping your shoes off, awkwardly climbing farther onto the bed until your back rested against the headboard.

Every movement suddenly felt painfully self-aware beneath the cameras pointed directly at you.

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while studying the frame through the viewfinder, eventually stepping forward again to move the tripod closer.

Before you could shift yourself lower against the mattress, he suddenly walked toward you instead. Your breath hitched the second he crouched down in front of you holding the clip-on microphone.

He leaned in close enough for you to catch the faint scent of mint lingering on him.

“You forgot these earlier,” he said lightly, though there was something mocking beneath the softness of his voice now.

“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Uhm… I was in a rush, so…” Your cheeks burned instantly from embarrassment. 

Of course you forgot the microphones!

Jungkook raised a brow slowly. “You were in a rush?” he repeated with a quiet chuckle before standing back up again.

Then he walked toward the table and grabbed the smaller digital camcorder, casually aiming it toward you.

The amount of cameras pointed at you now made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Instinctively, you tried sitting up straighter, but Jungkook stopped you immediately.

“Stay still,” he said calmly. “I wanna test the cameras.”

“Test the cameras?”

“I think you need a little demo, baby.” Your heartbeat stopped. “You weren’t doing a very good job earlier.” The teasing mockery in his tone hit you like a truck.

And suddenly everything crashed down at once. Your eyes widened in horror.

Fuck. 

He knew.

Of course he knew!

Heat rushed violently into your face and neck, humiliation crawling across your entire body so intensely it almost hurt. Your chest tightened painfully while tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them.

You looked away instinctively, shame flooding every inch of you.

God, this was so embarrassing.

“J-Jungkook, please,” you stammered quickly, panic slipping into your voice. “I’m not trying to scam you or anything, it’s just that—”

He stepped closer until his knees brushed against the edge of the bed.

And somehow, that almost satisfied look on his face made your stomach twist even more.

You looked so shy. So cornered. Like a poor little thing unknowingly walking straight into his hands.

His gaze lingered on you with dangerous amusement, as though you had already become his favorite test subject for the cameras.

Dark lazy eyes dragged slowly across your body, taking their time, shamelessly roaming over every inch of you while his imagination sparked vividly to life. You could almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes—every filthy thing he wanted to do to you, every position he wanted to bend you into, every sound he wanted to force out of your mouth while the cameras kept recording.

And somehow, what excited him even more was the thought of filming it all. Editing it afterward. Watching you fall apart for him frame by frame.

“Shh,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay.”

Your watery eyes lifted toward him immediately. “I’ll teach you how to film, hmm?” he said mockingly.

“W-What?” Your lips parted in disbelief.

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, dark eyes fixed on yours with an unreadable expression.

“Gonna show you the right angles, baby,” he cooed. “What do you think?” He smiled without humor.

The contrast made you shiver. “B-But…”

“Will you cooperate with me?” he asked, voice smooth and almost condescending, like he was speaking to a child. His fingers tapped lightly against one of the cameras beside him. “We wouldn’t want these cameras to go to waste, would we?”

Your throat tightened. Part of you wanted to disappear completely. To book the next flight home, apologize profusely, and somehow repay every expense he wasted on you.

But another part of you—the younger version buried deep inside your chest, the girl who once stayed up all night watching his videos and smiling at her screen—couldn’t let go of this moment.

Because despite everything, Jungkook still hadn’t thrown you out.

He wasn’t yelling at you.

He was giving you another chance.

And maybe that meant you still had an opportunity to prove yourself.

Thousands of people probably wanted your position right now. Yet somehow, he was still here. Patient enough to teach you himself.

Completely unaware of how dangerous that patience actually was.

Because the lessons Jungkook had in mind were nothing like the ones you were expecting.

So slowly, you nodded.

Hope flickered weakly beneath your embarrassment while your thoughts tangled themselves around one desperate need: to impress him somehow.

“Okay,” you whispered nervously. “I—I learn fast when someone’s teaching me and…”

Jungkook raised a thick brow at you. “Pretty girl’s a fast learner, huh?”

Your cheeks immediately reddened again. You nodded shyly despite the obvious teasing in his tone, unconsciously pouting a little from embarrassment.

His eyes went down to your lips, eyes darkening. “Can you count the cameras for me?” he asked a bit impatiently.

You glanced around quickly toward the setup.

The two cameras mounted on tripods.

The camcorder in his hand.

“There’s three,” you answered softly.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Good job, baby.” he slowly lifted the camcorder higher, zooming the lens closer toward your face.

“Now look here.”

You shyly looked into the camera lens, your cheeks dusted with pink beneath the warm lights.

The way Jungkook stared at you through the camcorder made you shrink into yourself slightly, suddenly aware of every little movement you made on the bed.

He tilted his head slowly. “So pretty.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Heat crawled up your neck as you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress, fingers curling slightly into the sheets. The entire situation suddenly felt strangely intimate, and for a second your thoughts drifted somewhere dangerous before you quickly forced yourself to focus again.

This is just a demo.

He’s teaching you.

Nothing else.

“Open the first few buttons of your top,” he said, voice quieter now as he continued looking at you through the camcorder.

Your eyes widened instantly.

Did I hear that right?

“W-What?” you nearly choked out, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast despite how badly this entire situation could end for you.

And somehow, against all logic, excitement started curling through your stomach.

“Need you to cooperate, baby,” he answered smoothly. “Come on, do a nice show for me.”

The teasing edge in his tone made your stomach twist nervously.

You hesitated for a moment before slowly bringing your shaky fingers toward your top, feeling painfully aware of the cameras pointed at you from different angles.

Jungkook watched carefully through the lens, adjusting the focus ring slightly while observing the framing.

“That’s it.” he encouraged.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, fingers trembling as you slowly undid the first few buttons of your blouse. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, burning the tips of your ears as the reality of the situation settled deeper beneath your skin.

He’s filming a sex tape.

You were so fucking stupid because instead of panicking properly, instead of running or completely losing your mind, you were following him blindly. Worse—you were getting excited.

Fuck, you should’ve been crashing out right now.

But the way he looked at you— God.

It felt like he wanted to devour you whole. His dark eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin with quiet hunger, liquid heat pulsed embarrassingly between the gap of your thighs before you could stop it.

“Open your eyes baby, stare at the camera.” he said firmly, an obvious edge underneath it.

You slowly opened your eyes. Your cheeks were already burning, breath uneven as you finished unbuttoning the last one, revealing just enough of your chest to make your thoughts scatter. The camera lens felt heavier now, more invasive, like it was watching you breathe, waiting for you to make the wrong move.

“Hmm…touch your breasts baby, give it a nice squeeze for me.” he whispered, still holding the camcorder, directing it with the ease of someone who knew exactly what every angle captured.

Completely under his control, you obeyed, your hands moving hesitantly at first before you held yourself through the fabric, giving a light squeeze that made your breath hitch. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to stay steady, trying to keep your eyes locked on the camera like he told you, even as your vision softened at the edges and your body betrayed your focus.

The room felt smaller now. Heavier.

You were getting so wet.

Jungkook let out a low groan, eyes still fixed through the lens.

“Remove your top, wanna see your pretty nipples.”

Your ears burned red at the filthy undertone. With shaky hands, you slowly pulled your top off, revealing the white lace bra beneath. The delicate fabric hugged the soft swell of your breasts perfectly, and the moment Jungkook’s eyes settled on them through the camera lens, another wave of heat rushed through your body.

You slowly tugged at the first strap, then the second, freeing your breasts as your nipples hardened, flushed and sensitive against the cool air.

“That’s it,” he instructed, voice steady. “Roll those pretty nipples for me.”

You obeyed, pinching them gently before rolling them between your fingers. Your lips parted at the rush of sensation that followed, breath catching as your panties got more stickier with your arousal.

When your gaze dropped, you noticed the strain in his black shorts—the obvious tent pressing against the fabric. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that despite his composed, professional expression as he filmed you, he wasn’t unaffected.

He groaned, zooming in on how you were rolling and pinching your nipples, his cock throbbing at the sight, precum leaking from its mushroom tip.

“Bring your hand to your mouth,” he ordered, directing the camera at your face. “Now, spit on it.”

You whimpered. Like a good girl, you gathered your saliva and spat thickly onto your palms, showing it to him after.

He bit his lower lip, his cock getting so hard from your submissiveness. “Good girl, now rub it on your nipples—make it nice and wet for me,” he rasped.

You rubbed the spit on your breast, the warm, sticky fluid on your nipples feeling so raw and dirty, spreading the saliva messily as he watched you through the lens with hooded eyes.

You were getting so horny, the dirty act turning you on so much that you could feel your panties sticking to your core.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, slowly reaching toward you. “I bet you’re so wet right now.”

You looked so pretty—your neatly done hair now slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed from all the things he’d been instructing you to do, pebbled nipples glistening under the camera lights. Your legs trembled slightly, aching to be touched, your lips parting every now and then as your breath turned uneven, eyes hazy and unfocused.

The sight made Jungkook’s cock throb painfully hard.

His pretty little doll.

He handed you the camcorder. “Hold this, baby. Show them who’s making you this wet.”

With shaky hands and glossy eyes, you took the camera and tried to point it toward him, your eyes rolling back when he removed his white polo shirt and black shorts, leaving him in his gray Calvin Klein boxers.

You whimpered as you could see the outline of his huge cock, precum leaking at the tip, wetting the center of the cloth.

“Your angle is wrong,” he raised a brow, noticing how your shaky hands were failing a bit at holding the camera properly.

You panicked. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, trying to straighten it, ignoring the painful pulses between your legs—your body begging to be touched.

He chuckled, leaning over you. “It’s okay, baby. That’s why we have another camera.”

His hands came up to your cheeks, gently holding and angling your face to the right so you could look toward the second camera set up by the side of the bed. “I bet you’d look so good getting fucked from that angle,” he whispered.

His grip on your cheeks tightened slightly, squishing them just enough as the camera captured everything—the way your eyes fluttered, the way your nipples hardened under his gaze, the way your legs shifted restlessly, searching for any kind of friction.

You gasped loudly when his free hand went down to cup your pussy through your pants, your eyes rolling back as he felt the wetness through the fabric.

“Fuck, let me see how wet you are, yeah?”

With one hand, he unzipped your pants, pulling them down in one forceful motion while his other hand remained on your cheeks, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera. Your other hand trembled as it tried to capture what he was doing below.

“Capture this, baby,” he breathed, guiding your hand holding the camcorder to angle it downward, towards your wet pussy.

You almost dropped the camera when he suddenly slapped your cunt, your panties nearly see-through from how wet they were with your arousal.

“Jungkook~” you whimpered.

He sat up and held both of your legs, spreading them wider until your ankles were almost on either side of the bed.

“You’re so wet, I can see your cute little slit through your panties baby.” He chuckled, leaning down and hollowing his cheeks to spit right above your clothed clit, making it even messier.

You whimpered, your toes curling at the sensation, gripping the camcorder tightly as you felt him crouch down, spreading his spit over your panties. His warm tongue then licked along your pussy through the fabric, slotting between your folds, the wet material pressing inside your slit.

“Make sure the camera can see how good I’m gonna eat this pussy.” He whispered while looking at you, flipping your panties to the side and groaning when he saw how wet and pink you were, his jaw slackening as he took almost your whole pussy into his warm mouth.

It was so wet and messy, and you could see him through the mini screen of the camcorder, maintaining direct eye contact with the lens while eating you out, making sure to pull back your hood so the camera could capture how his lips would wrapped around your swollen clit.

He suctioned around it, spreading more spit, sucking as if his life depended on it, then moved down to gather your juices before sliding his hot tongue inside you, coaxing more from you. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, showing you how he drank every bit of your wetness.

“That feels so g-good.” You moaned, trying to zoom in on how his tongue played with your folds.

He hummed, the vibrations making you twitch in pleasure.

“Yeah? This feels good?” he asked, sucking harshly on your clit as your eyes rolled back, your release building up fast. Your pussy throbbed, your clit growing more sensitive with every passing second.

“I’m gonna-’’

You moaned loudly when he buried his face deeper, never letting go of your throbbing clit, his head moving from side to side as he groaned low against you. When he finally let go of your clit, you gasped as he gathered a thick amount of saliva, hollowing his cheeks to spit harshly down on you, then leaning back in with his tongue out to spread it in slow, kitten-like licks.

When he looked up again at the lens, you exploded, your orgasm so intense you could feel your pussy pulsating so hard you almost saw stars.

‘’Stop, please!” You whined, overstimulated as he kept licking your cunt, your legs shaking from the oversensitivity.

His chin and nose were soaked, his lips slightly red and pouty, his dark locks messy, and his pupils dilated. You gasped when he suddenly removed his boxers; his cock was hard and pretty, curving slightly upward, decorated with thick veins and a red, swollen mushroom tip.

Jungkook took the camera and angled it towards you, wide glossy eyes looking up at him weakly.

“Say… thank you for making me cum, Jungkook.” He breathed, his other hand gripping his cock as he spread the precum along his shaft.

“Thank you for m-making me cum, Jungkook.” You croaked, your legs still trembling from your intense orgasm.

He smiled proudly. “My smart girl, very good at following instructions,” he praised, placing the camcorder down beside you and angling it so it could capture how his mouth leaned down to suck your nipples, while his free hand squeezed and rolled the other bud between his fingers.

“Jungkook—” you moaned as his tongue twirled and sucked around your breast, just like he had done to your clit—messy and pouty with saliva.

He bit your nipple playfully, earning a soft whimper from you, his tattooed hand reaching down to cup your swollen pussy.

You gasped when he inserted his middle finger, your walls tightening around the intrusion.

“You’re so tight and warm.” He murmured against your nipple, letting it go with a soft pop before moving to suck on the other one.

You whimpered, your pussy growing wetter from the way he sucked and played with your nipples, the pad of his middle finger brushing against your spongy spot, making you writhe in pleasure.

“Please- too much.” You moaned, his middle finger going so deep that his knuckles were hitting your ass, his finger curling in a “come here” motion inside you, rubbing your spot deliciously as your tight hole produced more juices, the feeling of your previous release being pushed inside you making you tremble.

He let go of your nipple and leaned in immediately, pouty lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, messy and demanding, tangling with yours as the kiss deepened and turned overwhelming.

At the same time, his other hand moved up to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as he held you in place.

Your lips parted in response, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue deeper, exploring every corner of your mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing your whines and protests.

His hard cock pressed against your inner thigh, impossibly close to your wet pussy, grinding lightly as he shifted. You could feel his precum, warm and slick, and the firm pressure of his mushroom tip against your skin made you bite back a shaky breath, a mix of pleasure and nerves twisting together inside you.

Your walls tightened around his finger, making it almost impossible for him to move it from how tightly your pussy gripped him.

He groaned, biting your lip and nudging your thighs wider with his legs, inserting another finger and making you gasp from the mix of pain and pleasure. He swallowed your moans, almost bruising your tongue from the way he was kissing you, the air in your lungs growing limited every time he squeezed your throat.

“Shh, behave for the camera.” he whispered, his thumb caressing your throat while his middle and ring fingers rubbed your spongy spot in slow circles.

Tears fell from your eyes, the overstimulation and edging making you cry from pain. You had already come, but you wanted to cum again so badly, your pussy aching and throbbing for another release, his fingers brushing your g-spot in a teasing, ticklish way, making you shake and move your legs in protest.

“Let me cum again, please, please…” you pleaded, fat tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

He gripped your throat a little tighter, making you gasp for air. “Aww, you wanna come again?” he cooed.

You nodded desperately, moving your hips to meet his fingers. “Yes, please.”

He chuckled at you. “So polite.” he said, lazily grabbing the camcorder from the side and angling it down towards your spent pussy. “Spread wide, baby.”

You immediately held your ankles, making yourself completely open for him, desperate for release, your body aching from denied pleasure.

He angled the camera at your twitching hole, filming how your wetness dripped down the sheets. He held his hard cock, spitting down onto his shaft and pumping it a few times before angling himself towards your wet cunt.

You gasped loudly when his blunt head entered your hole, biting your lip harshly at the foreign intrusion, the stretch nearly overwhelming you from his swollen mushroom tip alone.

“So big…” you whimpered, holding your ankles tightly as a new wave of tears gathered in your eyes.

Your breath hitched, trembling as you tried to adjust, the sensation stealing every coherent thought from your mind.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, zooming in on your wet cunt to capture how your walls were sucking him in.

“Your pussy looks so good on camera baby, so tight and pretty.” He grunted, pushing halfway in and earning a loud moan from you.

His bangs stuck to his forehead, his lip ring catching the light as he bit down on his lower lip. His broad chest rose and fell heavily, veins tracing along his neck, flushed and taut with effort. Even like this, he held the camera with unnerving steadiness, like nothing about the moment could shake his focus.

So steady and professional at producing sex tapes.

When he bottomed out, you almost fainted, the stretch overwhelming—painful yet intoxicating—as he pressed fully against you. His balls settled deep, his pelvis flush with yours, the soft trim of hair brushing your clit each time he rolled his hips.

He groaned harshly. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his jaw clenching as your walls enveloped him.

“Relax, baby—you’re gripping me,” he groaned weakly, this time angling the camera toward your face.

You whimpered, trying to cover your face with your small hands, but he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. His sudden hard thrusts made your body bounce slightly with every movement, leaving you breathless.

“Don’t be shy, baby—show your pretty face to the camera,” he drawled lazily, angling it towards your flushed expression.

“Show them how good I’m making you feel.” He grunted, rolling his hips against you. The curve of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly, buried so deep that he barely pulled out at all—only circling his hips, grinding in a way that made it feel like he wanted to push even further. The sensation drew a sharp arch through your back.

His gaze stayed locked on you through the screen, lips parted, breath uneven—like he was caught between control and losing it. The way your pussy gripped him made his cock throb, his expression darkening with something possessive and unspoken. 

“Look at you, whimpering like a pretty little slut.” he said in a condescending tone.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You pouted, your walls tightening around him at his degrading tone.

He raised a brow. “Oh really? You think a lot of people won’t agree once I upload this?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your flushed face as his thrusts turned harsher and sloppier, the rhythm giving away how close he was getting. You were almost impressed that he was still managing to keep the camera steady.

“N-No, you are not gonna do that,” you panicked, your eyes wide and glossy, your small hands trying to push the camera away.

He grunted, his cock throbbing as he felt your pussy tighten around him. He shifted just enough to avoid the camera when you reached for it, tightening his grip around both your wrists so you couldn’t move.

“You like that, huh? Come on, pretty—let me film you properly.” He snapped his hips harder, angling the lens toward you while your bodies met in sharp, rhythmic collisions.

The friction made your breath hitch, your clit brushing against his pubic hair in a way that sent jolts of pleasure racing through your body. His grip tightened around the camcorder, breathing uneven as he watched you come apart through the screen, completely drunk on the sounds you were making for him.

“Moan louder.” he commanded.

You moaned loudly, your chest rising and falling as his harsh movements made your body react against him. His eyes rolled back slightly from the way you kept pulsating around him, every drag sending him deeper into overstimulation.

He bit his lip. “My dirty girl, getting fucked on film.” he rasped.

Then, abruptly, he let go of the camcorder and set it aside.

A soft sound escaped him as he pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Before you could fully register it, he was already moving you—pulling your body forward and repositioning you in front of him.

He settled behind you, guiding you into place so that you were now facing the cameras on the tripod, your body fully on display while his broad chest and hard cock pressed close from behind.

“You see those two cameras baby?’’ he whispered behind your ear, spreading your legs wide.

“Yes.” you replied weakly.

You gasped loudly when he entered you from behind, your body settling against his lap as his thighs kept your legs spread wide, positioning you so the camera could clearly capture the way he entered you.

“Smile for them baby, need some footage from this angle.’’ He cooed softly, thrusting his hips upward while his other arm circled around your waist to keep you steady.

You moaned, trembling so badly when you saw how the lights caught both of your bodies—the glittering sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup, and his tattooed colored arms all captured in high definition under the harsh glow.

"My pretty pretty girl, should I post this? show them how I fuck?" he murmured against your skin before pressing a kiss to your cheek, his tongue brushing lightly over the dampness left behind by your earlier tears.

The tenderness of it contrasted so badly with the hunger in his voice that it made your breath hitch. His hand cradled your face carefully, thumb stroking beneath your eye as though he was soothing you and provoking you at the same time, and the way he looked at you through half-lidded eyes made heat rush straight to your chest.

He suddenly grabbed the clip-on mic from your necklace, your eyes widening as you realized he was angling it downward—towards where his cock met your pussy.

“Need to test the mic baby, let the viewers hear how much of a nasty slut you are.”

The mic was so close that every sound was picked up clearly—the wet, obscene squelches echoing as he pushed and pulled inside you, the way he dragged against your tight heat sounding even more intense through the recording. The noise alone felt almost sinful in how loud and wet it was.

“I bet they can hear how tight your pussy is.” he grunted, putting the mic closer to your cunt.

He could feel how slick everything had become, wetting his balls each time he pushed, your arousal makes each movement messier.

“Gonna cum, oh gosh.” You moaned, your body growing hypersensitive as your clit throbbed with the pressure of an approaching orgasm.

He grabbed both of your cheeks when he noticed your head starting to fall back from pleasure, forcing you to look straight at the camera in front of you. “Be a good girl and look at the lens, don’t want my content to be bad quality.’’

His other hand clipped the mic back onto your necklace before sliding down again, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching as your orgasm edged closer and closer.

“Cum for me baby, show them your cute little juices.” 

Your legs were shaking when you finally reached your orgasm, your clit throbbing so intensely, your limbs giving out as your body hit its peak. Your swollen bud pulsed uncontrollably in fast, erratic heart beats, your walls clenching around his cock as he was still thrusting inside you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head when you felt your orgasm stretch further from his deep thrusts, his mushroom tip brushing against your g-spot and dragging you straight into another wave. You came again, consecutively, your body twitching as overstimulation took over, your legs instinctively trying to close.

"J-Jungkook I can't anymore."

Jungkook forced your legs to stay open, his index and middle fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for the camera, showing how your clit pulsed beneath the warm lights while his cock remained buried deep inside you.

''Mhm.. spit on your clit baby, make it extra wet before I use you." he whispered.

You squirmed, obediently leaning down as his fingers kept you spread open. With trembling breaths, you gathered saliva on your tongue before letting it drip down onto your clit, both cameras capturing the filthy sight in sharp detail.

A low curse slipped past Jungkook’s lips at the view, his grip tightening instinctively as he watched you, completely consumed by the way you willingly put yourself on display for him.

He quickly flipped your body down to chase his own pleasure, entering you again and sloppily thrusting into your wet used walls, pushing your cum deeper and deeper inside you. You were so weak, your heart still racing as you weakly reached for the camcorder to film him.

When he saw what you were doing, he groaned harshly, his grip on your hips tightening so hard it bordered on bruising as he held you down.

“My smart girl, you learned well huh?” He praised you, thrusting fast and hard, the camcorder shaking in your grip as you tried to capture his deep strokes.

"Your little brain functioning well with my cock deep inside you.'' he muttered darkly, thumb brushing against your cheek as he watched your expression unravel for him.

“A-Am I doing a good job?” you asked softly, biting your lip as you adjusted the camera to capture his face this time.

He let out a low growl in response, movements losing their rhythm slightly as pleasure started pulling him apart at the edges. “Uh-huh,” he breathed heavily. “You can be my personal little porn star. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

A loud moan escaped you at the thought, heat rushing instantly to your cheeks as you tightened your grip on the camcorder, suddenly far too eager to keep filming him.

“Gonna fuck you anytime I want,” he breathed, dilated eyes locked on you through the lens. “Film it however I like.”

With a harsh final thrust, he came inside you, grunting as he pushed through the last of it, staying buried as he finished, his body still tense with the release. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, warm cum spilling and pooling, some of it leaking out and staining the sheets beneath you while he stayed balls deep.

The camcorder slipped from your grip, forgotten as you breathed heavily beneath him. You were completely spent, still sensitive as his hips gave a few slow, instinctive movements, as if trying to push his cum deeper despite his softening cock.

“Jungkook?” you asked weakly, fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft ruffles of his hair.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your neck, lips pressing lazy kisses there, his cock still buried deep inside you. The red recording lights on the cameras kept blinking steadily in the background.

“A-Are you really gonna post this?” you bit your lip, glancing back at the two large cameras perched on the tripod.

Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, teeth grazing your skin in a teasing bite. “Mhm. I still need to edit it though.”

“Jungkook!” you squealed, panicking again.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and sharp with need, still carrying that lingering haze of desire. “Do you even know how to edit?” he asked, eyes squinting in playful doubt.

Your eyes widened. “I can edit,” you insisted quickly. “I learned a few things… I kinda know the basics.” Your voice softened at the end, almost uncertain.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he slowly pulled out, earning a shaky breath from you before he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

“Hmm. Okay…” he murmured softly, lifting the camcorder slightly between you. “Edit this video for me, then.”

“What, r-really?” you blinked, surprised that he was letting you work for him.

“Uh-huh,” he said casually. “Then we’ll see if I have to keep you or not.”

You pouted instantly at that, but he was already shifting away from you, looking at the camcorder and checking the footage with the ease of someone far too experienced at this.

The screen’s glow reflected faintly against his handsome face as he replayed a few clips, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Even now, completely relaxed, he somehow still looked annoyingly professional.

“Okay…” you mumbled softly, a little disappointment slipping into your voice before you could hide it.

He noticed immediately. Of course he did.

A smirk pulled at his lips as he lifted the camcorder slightly, teasing you with it. “Make sure you include your pretty moans, baby,” he drawled. “Or else we’ll have to retake this again.”

He stood up then, completely unbothered, removing the cameras from their tripods like the decision had already been made long before you realized it.

Retake.

Oh. He was definitely keeping you.

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[kingkaisen]

𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, and his friends always tease him about it.

Eren and his boys—Jean, Connie, and Armin—spent four days together in Miami, Florida. It was a much needed trip, and each of them wanted to focus solely on spending money, having fun, and meeting beautiful women.

Except Eren.

He enjoyed ziplining over pools, drinking at clubs, going to the beach, and eating nearly all of the complimentary hotel breakfast food with Connie by his side, who started stuffing fruits and cups of cereal—with no milk, as he forgot, of course—into his clothes once the staff told him breakfast would end in ten minutes.

Even so, as he sat in the hotel’s dining area that had a light aroma of stale coffee and sunscreen, he missed you desperately.

Armin, who sat down at the little table across from Eren with his muffin, fruit, and eggs, could tell that his best friend was upset by the way he stirred his own scrambled eggs around on his plate, but not actually eating them.

“Don’t worry,” Armin looked up at his friend after taking a sip of his orange juice—Armin loved hotel orange juice, and Eren hated it—and the blue-eyed boy flashed a reassuring smile. “We’re going home tomorrow, so you’ll get to see her soon.”

“Yeah,” Eren mumbled.

“Maybe you could FaceTime her before we leave for the day,” Armin suggested. After all, jet skiing and scuba diving were on the agenda, and he truly wanted Eren to enjoy it.

“I already talked to her twenty minutes ago,” Eren sighed, slouching back in his chair. “It only made me miss her even more. She has a new hairstyle and everything.”

“Eren,” Armin slowly chewed on a strawberry as he blinked. “It’s only been a few days.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Eren pinched the bridge of his nose, and that’s when Connie and Jean joined them at their table.

“Guess what,” Connie grinned, placing two packed plates of food on the table. “They said we can sit here and eat as long as we want even after they stop serving breakfast, but we just can’t go back for seconds.”

“Connie grabbed every fucking thing he saw,” Jean frowned, grabbing a seat next to Armin.

“Hell yeah,” Connie picked up a grape, tossing it at Jean’s head. “So don’t be shy, grab whatever you want and eat up!”

“Don’t throw the grapes,” Armin said. “They’re delicious, so try not to waste them.”

“Loosen up, will you?” Jean frowned, breaking his hash brown into pieces before diving right in.

“I’ll loosen up once I know everything’s going according to plan,” Armin paused. “I mean, someone has to make sure we’re on schedule. It’s our last day here, so if we miss something, we won’t get another chance to do it.”

“The hell does that have to do with throwing grapes?” Connie said, earning a laugh from Jean.

Jean ruffled Armin’s blonde hair. “Don’t worry, we know you love the beach. We’re not gonna miss anything, alright? So just relax.”

“Right,” Armin smiled softly, “sorry.”

For a moment, everyone ate their food and engaged in somewhat polite chatter about today’s planned events.

“Alright, so we have our entire morning and afternoon planned,” Jean paused. “What are we doing tonight?”

Armin took that opportunity to bring the one silent member at their table into the conversation.

“Eren, is there anything you wanna do?”

“Yeah. Pack.”

And with that, Eren left the table, tossing his uneaten food in the garbage before heading back to the hotel room.

“Damn it, Connie,” Jean frowned. “I told you to let the guy bring his girlfriend.”

Connie tossed his arms up defensively, swallowing his food before he said, “go to Hell.”

—

As the day went on, Eren managed to have a bit of fun with his friends. Even so, as he swam with colorful fish and zoomed across the sea, a tingle of pain would shoot through his heart whenever he remembered that you weren’t with him, experiencing all of the bucket-list worthy adventures by his side.

As the group headed home in Jean’s SUV, Eren sat in the backseat besides Connie. He pressed his head against the foggy window, looking out at the orange streetlights passing by.

“Eren,” Connie fought back a laugh, pulling his phone out to record the pouting man. “Why are you acting like you’re in a R&B music video right now?”

“Shut up, Constance.” Eren effortlessly tossed his hand out and smacked Connie’s tattooed arm.

Connie quickly ended the recording.

“I’m gonna drop Eren off first,” Jean said, gripping the steering wheel as he made a left turn, “I really think he might die if he doesn’t get to Y/N soon.”

“Turn left again,” Armin said, directing Jean from the passenger seat. “But guys, leave him alone. Y/N’s lovely. None of us can understand what he’s going through because the three of us are single.”

“Thank you, Armin,” Eren said.

Eren folded his arms across his chest, continuing to sulk like a kid who just had their favorite toy taken away.

But, once Jean turned down a familiar street, the depressed man instantly perked up.

“You’re grinning like a toddler, dude,” Connie teased, but Eren ignored him, gripping the door handle tightly.

Jean tugged on his hat, slowing down as he pulled up in front of your home. However, before Jean could come to a complete stop, Eren started to jump out of the car.

“Eren! Be careful!” Armin warned as Jean slammed on the brakes. His warning was utterly useless, as Eren was already halfway through your front yard by the time the words fell from Armin’s lips.

“You forgot your bags!” Jean shouted, rolling down his window. “Didn’t shut my damn door, either.”

Suddenly, you opened your front door, having heard all of the commotion outside. And when you smiled, all of Eren’s friends could easily see why he was so in love with you.

Eren nearly knocked you over once he finally made it into your arms, a big smile spreading across that beautiful face of his. He showered your forehead and cheek with kisses as he inhaled your comforting scent.

“I missed you so much,” he said.

“I can tell,” you teased, hugging the tall man back. “I missed you too.”

He pulled away from the hug only to cup your face with his large hands. He kissed your lips softly, melting over the touch he had craved for days.

“I’m not going anywhere without you ever again. I don’t care if it’s the grocery store or to the living room,” Eren mumbled against your lips, and you giggled softly.

“Hey!” Jean suddenly honked his horn. “You’ve seen her, now come get your stuff!”

“In a minute,” Eren shouted back, flipping the driver off.

He just had to stare at that gorgeous face of yours for a few more minutes, and who could blame him? He was madly in love with you.

[erensdork]

close quarters

e. jaeger x reader

NSFW

word count: 10k (it’s long but it helps build up the tension i promiseee)

a/n: this one shot was based on a request i received to write cabin eren smut (i lost the request unfortunately). lowkey not a fan of this one but i put so much effort into it🥲

synopsis: y/n tries to keep her composure after an unintentionally sexy car ride with eren only to be dared to share a room with him and one drunken confession finally force them to acknowledge the tension between them.

content warnings: forced proximity, lap sitting, sexual tension, friends to lovers, brief male masturbation, vouyeristic themes, alcohol consumption, awkward tension, kissing, grinding, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, protected sex, very brief choking, semi public sex (thin walls), mouth covering, trying to “stay quiet”, accidental creampie

The journey wasn't too far. Maybe around half an hour. That was why it was okay for the two of you to do what you would be doing. Surely it was okay.

For the weekend, the seven of you were heading over to Jean's cabin. It was a great way to vacation: a weekend long hangout just for you and your friends.

However, an issue arose upon the seating arrangements. There were seven of you whereas Jean's car was only a five seater.

And, for that reason, you found yourself clambering onto Eren's lap to secure your seat in the car. "Take your time." Eren held onto your hand, guiding you into the already, practically fully, packed car. His other hand rested on the top of the car door, right above your head, to avoid any injury. "You got it?" Eren moved to pat your thigh, encouraging you to move it outwards into some sort of straddle over both of his legs, rather than a straddle over just one.

"Eren, I'm literally wearing a skirt. I can't just spread my legs like that." You began to tug at the stubborn material of your denim skirt, attempting to cover your now slightly exposed panties. "Keep your legs together." You pushed his knees together, your own legs closing from the chain reaction.

"Well, now I'm uncomfortable. Scoot forward." Eren lifted his hips slightly before pushing you down so that you rested further down his thighs. "How's that?"

"What's going on between you two? Sounds like you've been in this position before." Connie snorted from the opposite back seat, underneath Sasha who was now adjusting her position in his lap, raising his eyebrows. 

Mikasa slapped Connie with the back of her hand from the middle seat. "Don't make this any more insufferable than it has to be." She warned before pulling down her sunglasses.

"Yeah guys, it's literally half an hour." Jean called out from the passenger seat.

"You guys all situated?" Armin turned from the front seat, his GPS in hand.

"Wait a minute." You began to tug at the seatbelt, attempting to have it cover the both of you. However, your efforts were to no avail. It would stop short of being locked in as the space between you and Eren was far too great.

"It's probably faulty, knowing Jean." Eren reassured from behind you. "We don't need one. We'll be fine."

"No, we do. Sasha, how'd you get yours on?" You tugged desperately before turning to see if anything was possibly jammed.

"Bro, you gotta hold her closer than that." Connie indicated to the position him and Sasha were in. "Like this." There was barely any space between the two of them. Truly, her back was against his front. And her ass was right on his-

"Yeah, that's literally the only way we could do it." Sasha confirmed.

"Okay, hold on. My pockets are full." Eren prefaced. As you waited, grabbed onto the headrest of Armin's seat and leaned forward as Eren sorted out his brief dilemma. That was why it was such a shock to you when Eren grabbed you by the hips, tugging you backwards.

You almost gasped at the motion, your eyes instantly widening. "Try it now." Eren instructed casually, way too casually considering the way he had just manhandled you. Thankfully, once you turned back to Sasha and Connie, neither of them had noticed your... moment— if you could call it that. "There you go."

Eren let go of your hips as soon as the seatbelt was done. At that, you felt like you could finally breathe. He slightly pulled his hips backwards, although it was to no avail. It was an uncomfortable position, sure, but you kept telling yourself that it was only a half an hour ride.

Correction: it was half an hour with no traffic. That was why, when you hit the road smack bang in the middle of rush hour, you found yourself engulfed in traffic. It wasn't like it was a traffic jam or anything, it was just constant stops which would last around two minutes each as you slowly drove a couple inches each time. It was getting extremely stressful, at least, for you.

The rest of the car was filled with singing, music and chatter. It was mainly Connie, Sasha and Jean bantering as always whilst Mikasa had her earphones in, listening to her own music and Armin focused on driving. For you and Eren, however, it was practically silent.

You had almost forgotten that you were sat on top of Eren what with how quiet he was being. It was truly shocking to see the Eren Jaeger go so long without spewing. You almost wanted to ask if he was okay. That was until he spoke up before you. "Can you stay still? Please." His voice was hushed as he pleaded with you.

"Huh? Oh, uh, sorry." You swallowed hard before adjusting yourself by scooting ever so slightly forward. The feeling of Eren's warm breath coated the back of your neck as you tried to stay in one place despite the shakiness of the ride.

It wasn't until the car hit a speed bump and you were sent plunging backwards until you felt it. You felt Eren. You felt him beneath you. He was pressed right up against your ass— well, his cock was. 

You knew that there was absolutely no mistaking it, especially as you heard his breath hitch the second you made contact. Your entire body heated up as your blood ran cold. You were sat right on Eren's hard on. Holding your breath, your entire body tensed up.

Whether he knew that you felt it, you were unsure of. But, you definitely didn’t want to outwardly react and risk making things any more awkward. And so, you settled for staying as quiet and still as you could and hoping that it would blow over.

But, you really couldn't think straight for the next couple of minutes. All you could do was hyper focus on Eren and the feeling of his bulge pushing right up against your ass. It wasn't like you wanted to— well that was what you told yourself. After all, his hard on was something that couldn't go unnoticed when you were directly on top of it. Eren's breath was heavy. You could hear him from beneath you. His mouth was closed and yet, his strong huffs rang through your ears.

Your body flushed and you made the mistake of adjusting your hips once again. It was completely involuntary and only when the action was completed did you realise what you had done.

Eren's hands instantly flew towards your hips. The action was frantic yet subtle enough for it to be played off. But, of course, you could see right through him. He cupped his hands around your back, creating a barrier between the two of you almost in an attempt to partially separate you from him.

You would've apologised but, if you were to apologise, then Eren would've known that you knew he was hard. In order to be able to survive the rest of the weekend, you needed to pretend. You needed to act completely oblivious.

So, that was what you did for the rest of the drive. You browsed your phone, kept as still as possible and hoped that no more speed bumps came up. Eren seemed to be alright with that arrangement as he slowly let go of you, trusting you near his hard cock— or maybe he just didn't want anyone else to notice that he was holding you so intimately.

However, just because you were physically calm, that didn't mean that your mind wasn't running at one hundred miles per hour. You were hot, so incredibly hot and your throat was growing dry. You hated the places that your mind was going to and you needed to exit that car immediately if you wanted to hold onto your willpower.

Even as you began to exit the car, you almost felt weak in the knees. You could barely support yourself, having to promptly remind yourself how to stand for the sake of not causing any suspicion.

"The guys have already been here so you can start packing away and whatever. I'll take the girls on a tour if you don't mind?" Jean instructed, his own luggage in hand as he sorted everyone out.

You noticed that Eren had only just left the car when Jean began speaking. Surely he had been adjusting himself. That thought alone had your lip finding its way between your teeth.

But, the focus you had on Eren was soon alleviated when you finally saw the cabin for what it was. The exterior in itself had you shocked what with the scenic location and its intricate design. However, as soon as Jean unlocked the door, you were completely taken aback.

"So, Connie and Sasha will be sharing the bunk beds." Jean spoke as he led you through the upstairs. "Y/n and Mikasa will share a double bed." You and Mikasa both nodded in confirmation. "Okay, and then Armin and Eren will share the other double bed.”

Jean vaguely pointed at each door of each bedroom throughout the tour, clearly rushing through so that you guys could unpack and begin your weekend long hangout. Yet, it was near the end of the tour that you realised that nature was calling. "Where was the bathroom, again?"

"Each bedroom has a bathroom. Yours was the room next to Eren and Armin's, right?" Jean asked to which you nodded. "Second floor on the right."

You wandered back through the halls and down the stairs until you reached the second floor. It was there that you remembered that you had basically forgotten what Jean had told you. It was the second door to the right, right? Either way, you could always turn around if it was the wrong room.

As soon as you opened it, you knew you were wrong. Eren and Armin's luggage were placed into the room, slightly open and searched through yet the room was still pretty empty as the items hadn't been unpacked. Nevertheless, it was the first bedroom you had entered and you were marvelled by the furnishing.

Yet, as you were about to walk around, you were stopped by a noise. It was over the other side of the wall, near where the bathroom was. If there were to be one downside to Jean's cabin, it was that the walls were incredibly thin. And, for that reason, when you focused hard enough, you could hear exactly what was going on. You could hear those quietened moans and the harsh fapping.

Holy fucking shit. There was no need for you to ask questions. With the context of the car ride and the undeniably taboo sounds that you were hearing, there was no way that Eren wasn't jerking himself off in that bathroom.

Each time you made an attempt to collect yourself, your heart would pick up again and your skin would flush. You were so incredibly thankful that Eren had no idea that you were there as you found yourself frozen for what felt like minutes, the sound of his actions filling your ears.

It wasn't until you heard the movements of the others from upstairs that you realised exactly what you were doing. You were listening in on your friend through the wall as he masturbated in private. Holy fuck, you were a pervert.

With haste, you sped towards your room and made a b line for the bathroom. You were completely ready to spend the rest of the night in there. After all, there was absolutely no way that you would be able to face Eren after that whole fiasco. You just couldn't look at him the same way.

That was why for the rest of the afternoon, late until evening, you stuck with Sasha and Mikasa. However, you could only stay separated for so long. That was why, you made your way through as many drinks as possible. You squeezed your second empty can of cut water as you entered the cabin once more, tossing it into the trash with a loose hand as you felt your body start to heat up. The liquor was hitting you, but, that wasn't enough to cover your fluster.

Sat on the couches in the living room were the guys. They had already gotten out more vodka and each had a shot glass in hand. "What's going on here?" Sasha asked as she sat down on a couch.

"Playing truth or dare. If you don't wanna answer you gotta take a shot." Jean reached for the shot glasses on the side table next to him before filling them up. "Wanna join?" He passed one shot glass over to Sasha.

"I'm in." You shrugged and received your glass from Jean, Mikasa following suit. However, as you turned, the only open seat was next to Eren. It made your heart skip a beat. "You can sit." Indicating towards Mikasa, you offered her the seat on the couch.

"Oh no, I'll sit on the edge. You sit first." Mikasa beckoned for you to sit next to Eren.

Reluctantly, you took a seat next to Eren, your body filling with way more heat than it could tolerate. Swallowing hard, you tried not to breathe too hard or fast as you stared into the, suddenly really interesting, shot glass that you were handed— anything to not have to face that man.

"Okay, I'll start again. You can't dare someone to kiss, fuck or not fuck anyone else and you can't have someone strip down or do anything gross like piss outside." You and the rest of the girls nodded along to Jean's rules. "You can ask about basically anything  but you can't ask any follow up questions until the next round. Got it?"

The three of you confirmed practically in unison. "Okay, well, it was my turn before." Connie spoke. "Mikasa, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"I dare you to swap rooms with Eren. So, you'll be with Armin and Eren will be with Y/n." Connie Smirked. "At least for tonight."

"You can't do that! That's like you daring all of us!" You argued.

“Tell Armin shouldn’t have given me that stupid ass dare earlier.” Connie scoffed.

"Can't I take a shot?"

"It wasn't your dare." Jean asserted.

You bit your cheek as you looked up at Mikasa with pleading eyes. There was no way. You really couldn't do this. Mikasa had to take that fucking shot.

"I'm fine with that." Your heart sank, filling your throat and clouding your mind. "Jean, truth or dare."

You weren't sure of what went on for the rest of what felt like the hours you spend playing afterwards as the only thing on your mind was that damn sleeping arrangement. Both rooms only had one bed. You remembered. That would mean that you would have to share a bed with Eren. There was no avoiding it.

Any other day, it would've been okay. You were friends. Nothing else. However, that particular of all days, the tension between the two of you was palpable. You had felt his hard fucking cock for crying out loud.

It wasn't exactly like you were scared however. Well, you weren't scared of Eren. The issue was that no matter how much you tried to avoid it, you couldn't help the fact that your body responded to it. You were wet. That entire car journey, you were soaking your fucking panties. It wasn't until you had finally reached the bathroom that you realised just how turned on you had been. There was no doubt that you were incredibly attracted to Eren. You hated it.

"Y/n, truth or dare." Your eyes lifted to meet Sasha. Suddenly being pulled out of your daze.

"Dare." You had your shot glass prepared, ready to avoid anything that Sasha threw at you.

"I dare you to take a sip of a drink that I'm gonna make for you." That malicious grin was potent on her face. "If you don't wanna take a sip you're gonna have to take a shot." Sasha bit her lip as she smiled, dangerously proud of herself.

You tossed the contents your shot glass into your mouth. As much as the taste made you quiver, it filled you with an added, warm buzz. "I'm calling it a night here." You declared.

"Yeah, I think I’ll head to bed too." Connie ushered Sasha up along with him. "And, my dare still stands!" Connie reminded the four of you, making you all sigh in unison.

"Perfect, I’m exhausted." Armin stood up and stretched.

"Mikasa, you wanted me to show you how to turn on the fireplace?" Jean called for her as he stood up himself.

"Oh, yeah." Mikasa followed after Jean, leaving just you and Eren sat on the couch.

Instantly, you scrambled to your feet. "I'm gonna as well.”

"Yeah." Eren agreed as he followed you towards the staircase. Fuck. Now you were really stuck with him.

"How drunk are you?" You asked, walking slightly slower as you met Eren’s pace.

"Kinda tipsy. You?" Eren tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants.

"Same here. I'll probably fall asleep quick." You said.

"Awh." Eren tutted.

"What? Want me to stay up with you?"

"I just wanna talk." Eren collected the glasses that you had rinsed and began to load them into the dishwasher. "We haven't spoken all day. I thought I pissed you off."

From the way Eren spoke, it sounded authentic. For all you knew, Eren may have just randomly popped a boner in the car and the circumstances had him at your mercy. There was no solid evidence that You were the one who got him hard. There was no need for you to be getting all worked up over it.

That was why you let down the walls that you had put up that day. From your time spent unpacking until your shower, you and Eren were talking. You were talking like nothing had happened and, you hated it.

You weren't sure what it was about the situation beforehand. It just felt so forbidden that it almost made you feel good. It was flattering, making you feel pursued. After all, you did make Eren Jaeger hard.

However, since you had put it 'past' you, it felt too normal. It was as if it had never happened. But it most certainly did. You hated pretending like it wasn't making you go crazy.

At least you knew that the knocks you were hearing at the door were real when you turned the handle and were met with Sasha. "Where's Eren?" She shifted from heel to tip toe, a grin on her face and her hands behind her back.

"In the shower, why?" You rested your head against the doorframe, arms crossed over each other as the cool summer nights breeze dawned on you.

"Perfect." Sasha allowed herself in by pushing at your torso and making you take steps back while she took steps forward. "I have a present for you." Raising the pitch of her voice, she hyped herself up in a singsongy tone.

"Oh god, what now?" You cautiously glanced at the wall of your conjoined bathroom as if Eren would somehow be able to see Eren through it.

"Don't be so rude." Sasha huffed. "Look. I'm saving you here." Sasha made her hands visible, revealing the 'present' to you. Three wrapped condoms.

"Sasha, what the fuck?" Your eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you trying to give those to me?"

"Did you bring your own?" Sasha tilted her head to the side.

"No, because I won't need them." You whispered shouted. "I'm not gonna do anything with Eren. Or any guy here, for fucks sake."

"Yeah, yeah. Trust me, Y/n." Sasha grabbed your hand before shoving the condoms into your palm. "It's something about being under the influence and alone together. You lose all of your willpower."

As you were about to argue back, the sound of the shower turned off and your stomach dropped. "Okay, fuck, whatever. Now go!" You spun Sasha around before pushing her back out of the door and closing it behind her.

Through haste, you shoved the condoms to the bottom of your bag, making sure that they wouldn't be spotted, before clambering back into bed. Eren shifted in the bathroom as he dried himself off and got changed, only further making your heart rate increase. You had no clue when he was going to come out and that made you ten times more nervous.

In an attempt to pretend to be asleep, you tucked yourself into bed and closed your eyes. You were facing away from the bathroom door, hoping to god that Eren would just accept the fact that you were 'asleep' and move on.

Luckily for you, when Eren exited the shower, his movements instantly grew calmer and quieter as he was under the impression that you truly were sleeping. He had taken the bait. He wandered around the room carrying out whatever tasks he needed to do before eventually beginning to fumble with the duvet.

Holding your breath, you stayed limp as Eren entered a leg. You could still smell the fresh cleanliness from the shower on him as he invaded your bubble. The mattress dimpled under his weight, growing weaker as he tucked himself in. Soon enough, he was right beside you. Fuck, you were on fire.

So, scared out of your mind, you stayed like that and waited for him to drift off into sleep. Your ears were aching to hear his light snores or deep breaths. However, once again, it was because you were so tempted to talk to him. You were scared because you were so tempted to tell him that you knew everything. You just needed him to fall asleep before your resolve broke and you ran your mouth.

But, it seemed as if this man had no interest in sleeping. With the complete darkness in the room, you noticed a glow coming from his side. He was on his fucking phone.

Fuck it. You shuffled in the bed, turning yourself around and meeting his back. Thank god, it was better than meeting his eyes. Considering the blatant blue light that covered the both of you, you knew he wasn't falling asleep any time soon.

You weren't sure why, maybe it was the heat of the shower mixed with the alcohol you had previously drank and Sasha's 'present', but you found yourself tapping Eren on the back. You had completely lost your restraint. It felt like you were a child with the biggest secret ever; you just couldn't wait to let it out. "Eren."

"Hmm?" Eren turned his head back.

You opened your mouth before sucking in a breath. For a second, you hesitated. But, that hesitation only allowed for you to come up with your follow up sentence and continue running your mouth. "I felt it. When we were in the car." You whispered, telling yourself that if you stayed quiet, it wouldn't feel as real. "I know you were hard." Your lower stomach was eternally swirling with that fire that spurred you to confess.

"Fuck." Eren muttered to himself as he rested his head back on the pillow, clearly frustrated in some way. He turned to face you fully, biting his cheek as he searched through your eyes. "I was going to talk to you about it-"

"Was it because of me?" You swallowed hard, sinking your teeth into your lip.

Eren's own adam's apple bobbed at your question. “What?”

“Did I get you hard?”

With that, Eren turned his phone off. Though you couldn't fully see the expression on his face, you could tell that he was stressed. "If I tell the truth you gotta promise to not freak out." Eren sat up and turned on the lamp beside him instead.

"I wont." You sat up yourself, bringing your knees to your chest.

Eren raked a hand through his hair and tilted his head back. "You just- it's not like I was getting off on having you in my lap. It was just kind of turning me on even though I really didn't want it to." He dragged his palms over his face as he spewed his words out.

"No, I get it. I hate getting turned on when I don't want to be.” You nodded in agreement. “It feels so wrong."

"Right."

"And that’s why you were jerking off in the bathroom?" You tucked your chin between your knees. "Because of me?"

“When you say it like that-”

“I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” You turned towards Eren, looking at him with the most longing eyes and meeting his confused gaze. "I meant it when I said I hate getting turned on when I really don't want to be. That's why I was avoiding you."

"What?" Eren's eyebrows furrowed.

"Seriously, I'm not mad or whatever. You're not just some random creep." You went back to resting your head on your knees. "I mean- I kind of got off on it as well. I didn't want to but obviously it's... y'know, pretty hard. No pun intended."

Eren laughed at your mini joke. "Well shit, that got a lot off my chest. I didn't even have to take as many shots."

"Yeah well I think I would've taken this to the grave if I was still sober." You bit your lip. "Drunk words speak sober thoughts or whatever."

"Will you regret telling me in the morning?" The anxiety on Eren's face was incredibly present.

"We can only go up from here." You shrugged. "I mean, we're both as bad as each other."

"Yeah?" Eren brought a leg up, placing the sole of his foot on the bed and resting his arm on his knee.

“Yeah.”

You watched from the corner of your eye as Eren blew raspberries as he glanced at you a few more times than what would be unsuspicious. You could tell that he wanted to say something. You simply traced shapes into the skin of your legs whilst waiting. Luckily for you, he blurted out the sentence within a few seconds. "Are you, like, attracted to me, Y/n?"

Smiling, you looked back up at Eren. "Well, what do you think?" You punched him in the bicep as you tossed your head back. "Weren't you listening to anything I just said?"

"Does that mean you won't get offended if I say I really wanna kiss you right now?" Eren let out a heavy breath, almost as if he was actively stopping himself from his wants.

You couldn't stop yourself from grinning: you finally had Eren right where you needed him. "Well, I really wanna fuck you right now." Biting your lip, you reached over and turned on the lamp on your bedside table. "But we can't always have what we want." You nodded your head in the direction of the wall that was connected to Armin and Mikasa's shared room.

Though his features were soft and muted by the warm glow, you couldn't mistake the sharp glare he gave you. Forget if looks could kill: if looks could fuck, Eren would be balls deep. His tongue poked through his cheek as he undressed you with his eyes. There was absolutely no way he could deny you for any longer.

He fully took in what you said. The urgency behind the look he gave you was apparent but you could tell that his resolve was beginning to overtake him. He blew raspberries as he regained his composure. "I know. I know we can't fuck." You raised your eyebrows at Eren's reluctance yet didn't bother questioning him. It was as if he was reading off a script— he didn't resonate with his words at all.

He looked straight ahead before turning his head back towards you. "But, I want to kiss you so bad." He grabbed onto your cheek, brushing the skin with his thumb. "Just a kiss then we'll sleep." His face was so close to yours that you felt the warmth of his breath fan across you.

"Okay.” A smile found its way onto your face. “Okay, just a kiss." You pursed your lips, wetting them before you grabbed onto the duvet that was over the two of you and pulled it high enough to cover the both of you.

"C'mere then." Eren chuckled lightly before attaching his lips to yours. They were soft and warm, making your insides instantly feel like jelly. You let out a 'mmm' of approval when that pesky friendship barrier was finally broken. You didn't mind, your head was too hazy to understand what you were doing. You’d leave it till morning when you were sober and off of your current high to feel regret.

The kiss started off light and gentle. You could tell Eren wanted to savour you. Every peck was followed by a short smacking sound before the two of you opened your eyes temporarily and gauged the other. However, 'just a kiss' would have stopped around three pecks in. 'Just a kiss' would have ended when your hands were still on each other's faces. 'Just a kiss' would have been over a long time ago.

The more you kissed, the closer you pressed your chest up against Eren. You breathed heavily through your nose as you turned your head to the other side, beginning to exchange open mouthed kisses. It made your stomach swirl with something more than desire. You were overflowing with lust. Each kiss was another dose of Eren's longing for you, only further increasing your longing for him. You just couldn't stop.

Eren's lips moved feverishly against you, as if he had been wanting the kiss for way too long. You were almost completely breath taken, your head going all light and woozy. It felt good. So fucking good. You pushed back the short, loose hairs on Eren's forehead before kissing him harder. You were so close already but you couldn't help but crave his lips deeper and deeper.

Neither of you said anything as your revolves simultaneously broke. Loud, wet smacking sounds began to fill your ears, bouncing off of the walls and reminding you of just how shameless the act was. It was then that you pulled away, breathless and gazing at the dazed man in front of you. "You're such a good kisser, fuck." His hand trailed down your cheek and over your shoulder, down to your waist. He held you there, gripping your sides over your tank top.

"Speak for yourself." You rested your own hand on Eren's nape, smiling at him sweetly. So then was supposed to be the 'sleep' part after the kiss, right? You hadn't done it often but you were pretty sure that the position you were in wasn't one that a couple would normally sleep in. Neither you nor Eren let up, simply staring at each other as you caressed one another.

"Just one more." He pulled you closer to him by your waist before reattaching his lips to yours. You could feel yourself smile into the kiss as fulfilment entered you. Kissing Eren felt so good, you really weren't sure how you were going to stop.

Luckily for you, Eren paid no mind to the way that you swung a leg over him and turned him onto his back as you straddled his thighs. You just needed to be closer. As in, your pussy just above his dick, closer. The sensation you received from being so intimately close had your legs going weak and your core burning. You hated how much it turned you on because you really couldn't see yourself stopping anymore.

You lifted the duvet higher, almost fully covering the two of you. The way you shared such a passionate kiss underneath the sheets felt so dirty. If anyone were to walk in, they'd surely know what you were doing soley from the shape of the duvet.

"What're you scared of?" Eren whispered against your lips as he grabbed a hold of the duvet, pulling it slightly lower down. "No one's gonna come in."

"I'm scared that I won't be able to just kiss you." You bit your lip. "I don't wanna stop."

"Can you keep quiet?" Eren raised his eyebrows as his hands trailed down your body once more.

"Huh?"

"If I fucked you, would you be able to keep quiet?" He held you by your hips, ever so slightly encouraging you down. You had to sink your teeth harder into your lip to stop yourself from gasping because holy fucking shit he just sat you on his clothes cock.

"Well, I think so." You swallowed down the previous dirty sound that was bubbling up in your throat in order to prove yourself. "Probably, yeah."

"Yeah?" Eren's hands ghosted over your ass, making you shiver before he rested them on your thighs. "Do you want me to fuck you?" Slightly too eagerly, you nodded in confirmation to his question as your body went ablaze. "Are you on the pill?"

"I have condoms." You shrugged the duvet off you as you prepared to climb off the bed. Yet, you couldn't miss Eren's face as you confirmed that you had protection. "What?" As innocent as you could make it, you dragged out the word whilst fully knowing how suspicious you initially sounded.

"Were you planning on fucking this whole time?"

"I wasn't! Sasha gave them to me." You began to sift through your bag in search of the condoms, fumbling for a while in the mostly dark room.

"You guys are schemey as shit." Eren sat himself up against the headboard as you finally retrieved the packet and flaunted back over to him.

"Be grateful you get to have your way with me." You huffed as you placed the condom on the bedside table. “Thanks to these.”

"I'm very grateful." Eren encouraged you back into a straddle once more and sat you back down on his hardening dick. With the aching need you felt for him, you couldn't help but pull him in closer. Your lips were back on his within an instant as you interlocked your fingers into his hair.

The duvet hung around your hips, just about covering the way that Eren held you. His hands were large around the expanse of your lower back, straying far of your actual ass. "You can touch me, y'know?" You muttered against his lips, grabbing a hold of his hands. "You can touch wherever you want."

Leaning back, you brought his hands to your front, allowing him to cup your tits over your tank top. "Holy shit, Y/n." Eren glanced up at you before focusing on the mounds in front of him. In the meantime, you placed your hands behind you on his knees and began to move your hips.

Eren sighed and let his head rest back against the headboard, keeping a dangerous hold on your tits. "Fuck." You could physically hear the moment hus patience broke in his voice. He lifted up your tank top before pulling your chest closer to his face and beginning to kiss your skin.

You let your head fall back at the feeling, a light exhale escaping your lips as you closed your eyes. Still, you kept your hips moving over Eren, feeling your body heat up with pleasure. "Fuck." You already felt so fucking tingly and good, you weren't sure if you would be able to take Eren's dick any longer. With the way Eren kissed up to your neck before licking and sucking at your skin, you were fucking reeling. "Don't leave a mark." You barely managed to warn before a whine escaped.

Eren pulled away instantly, clearly alarmed by the giveaway sound that you made. "Keep your voice down." He whispered before slowing your hips.

"It was an accident." You swallowed hard and kissed him once more. Having Eren hard beneath you whilst he felt your body up and made out with you was so fucking overwhelming. You really didn't know what to do apart from try to relieve yourself of that ache between your legs.

You were so incredibly hot and horny that you discarded the duvet, leaving the two of you out in the open and letting the reality of your actions hit. You didn't care though, you wanted Eren so bad that you couldn't think straight.

It was getting to a point where simply dry humping him wasn't enough. You wanted more. You needed more. "Eren, can you please touch me more?" You whispered against his neck, breath hot, steamy and definitely sending shivers down his spine.

Eren patted your thigh, indicating for you to get off him. "Lie down." He allowed for you to lay while he removed his own shirt. He positioned you, ready for him on the bed.

You began to remove your own tank top, purposefully pushing your tits together to accentuate them. The shadows in the room were harsh, yet there was no missing the way that Eren ogled at you.

"You're really hot." Eren spoke as he tucked his finger into the waistband of your sleep shorts before looking back up at you. "Want me to keep your panties on?" His thumbs ghosted over the waistband of the separation between you being ass naked and fully on display in front of him.

“I don’t care.” You replaced his hands with yours and yanked both your shorts and panties down. "Please, just hurry."

As you spread your legs for him, you watched as he knelt in front of you, still in shock. "Fuck." His eyes struggled to find one thing to focus on as they darted all over your skin. He caressed your thighs as he continued to stare, completely entranced by your body.

"Stop staring." You began to close your legs back up again, shame starting to inch back into you.

"Why? You have such a nice body." Eren spread your legs once more and brushed a hand over your pubic bone, trailing it down to your clit before he pulled away. He began at your tits, kissing down your sternum before making time to lick, flick and graze each nipple. "I don't know why I didn't do this earlier." You actively held yourself back from gasping— not only from the pleasure but from the impact of Eren's words.

"Have you ever thought about it?" You raked your hands through his hair as you spoke.

"What? Fucking you?" Eren looked up temporarily to see you nod. A boyish smile filled his features before he reached up and pecked you. "Yeah. It’s all I could think about while I was jerking off."

With that, Eren was kissing down your stomach until he reached your pussy. Although you understood why Eren wanted to take his time with you, you couldn't help but manoeuvre his head in the right direction. Your arousal was becoming harder and harder to ignore and, with Eren's head mere inches from where u needed it, you were almost throbbing with need.

"You’re so impatient." Eren chuckled before peppering kisses along your inner thighs. 

"You would be too if you hadn't already got off today." You argued.

Eren's laughed while his eyes remained fixed on exactly where you needed him. You were already wet; he didn't have to tell you for you to know. He used his thumb to trace a stripe up through your slit, making you shiver. Fuck, maybe you weren't ready for his hands.

You looked down at the sight of Eren being mere inches from your pussy. This time, he gathered your wetness before circling it over your clit. "Ah-" Biting down on your lip, you rested your head back against the bed. Okay, you were really fucking turned on.

"You're sensitive." Eren blew lightly over your clit, watching your thighs twitch from the contact. "Sure you don't want me to go slow?"

"I'll tell you if it's too much." You reassured.

At that, Eren wasted no time in spreading your lips and licking a stripe up your slit. Instantly, you tightened your grip on his hair and sucked in a breath. It felt good, way too good. Eren's tongue was warm and wet with his added exhales, your needy clit was only further stimulated. "Mmm…” Your teeth sank further into your lip, failing at decreasing your want to moan out. You swallowed hard instead, staring up at the ceiling as the waves of pleasure began to roll over you.

Eren thumbed at your inner thighs, easing you as he began to lap at your clit. "Fuck-" You looked down only to be met with Eren's own eyes. They were sultry yet endearing, maintaining their focus on you as his tongue abused your clit. His eye contact was intimidating, making hot bubbles travel from your stomach to your head and turn you flustered.

"You taste so good, goddamn." Eren's voice was an octave lower, his own arousal spiking now that he had you at his mercy. He lapped at you before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, causing your mouth to drop open. Eren suckled on your sensitive nub, making your head spin. Your entire body was so feverishly alight, you had to place a forearm over your mouth in order to stop yourself from making noise.

Slowly, your legs were closing around Eren's head as he continued to lick at your wetness and kiss and suckle at your clit. Your back was ever so slightly lifting off the bed and you began to grab at anything you could find: your tits, the sheets, Eren's hair. "Fuck, it's- it feels good." You whined just about loud enough for Eren to pull away in concern.

"Remember to stay quiet, Y/n." He reminded you as he replaced his tongue with his thumb. "I'm gonna put a finger in, okay?" Eren was hesitant as he readied your pussy to be fingered; you could tell by the way he took cautious glances at you as he circled your entrance.

"Please, use your tongue again." You whispered breathlessly, your hands bringing his head back down once more. Eren was far more than compliant as he kissed and licked at your clit. He retracted his head before spitting, using the makeshift lube to help his finger slip inside of you. "Oh fuck." You exhaled shakily as you felt dizzy, your legs going weak.

Eren used his free hand in order to pin your thigh back, spreading it enough for him to have room to comfortably fit his head once again. However, the pleasure you experienced only intensified as Eren continued the abuse on your clit and then began to finger you.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, your lip suffocating in between your teeth as you succumbed to the heightened sensations. Eren's finger was so thick yet so articulate that it had the pressure in your lower stomach spiking. "Don't- can you go a bit slower?" You refused to open your eyes to meet Eren, the feeling of his finger alone inside you being enough to send you reeling. You were going to feel so embarrassed in the morning, you knew it.

Though Eren was a lot more gentle and slower with his strokes, the heat cycles that tore through you prevailed. He curled his finger upwards in search of that spongey area inside of you, only to have your legs smush against the sides of his head within an instant. "Ah!" You dug your nails into the mattress, your toes curling from the contact.

"Too much?" Eren soothed you with his free hand once more before removing his finger from inside of you and wrapping his arm around both of your thighs. "Calm down, Y/n. How am I supposed to fuck you when you're so sensitive?" He placed kisses on your clit and around your pussy in an attempt to bring your breathing back to normal.

"Kiss me." Opening up your arms, you encouraged Eren to come back up and attach his lips to yours. You were making out once again not long after, you being able to taste yourself on Eren. Fuck, it felt so dirty but that just turned you on that much more.

Your kisses were sloppy, wet and desperate as Eren began to remove his sweatpants. You reached down in search of his dick, your hand almost flinching at the feel of him. Hot and heavy, his length rested in your palm. You gripped him by the base, giving him long strokes as you continued to kiss. Yet, you weren't thinking straight anymore. Your mind was full of one thing and one thing only. He was so fucking thick. Way thicker than his fingers. God, Eren's girth was mind boggling and he wasn't even inside of you yet.

Perhaps that was why you felt him so well through both his pants and your skirt when you were in the car: Eren had a monster of a cock. Your mouth salivated and your clit throbbed. Your holes were aching for the fullness. "Fuck me. Please." Reaching for the nightstand, you grabbed the condom that you had left there earlier. Now, though you hadn't checked the size, you were slightly worried that it wouldn't fit.

However, Eren didn't give you the time to worry about that as he took hold of the condom packet, leaving you laid back against the bed. You brought the pillows that you had previously been sleeping on down and beneath your head, providing you with enough comfort as Eren rolled the condom on. Your stomach overturned itself as your mind caught up to your actions. Holy fuck, you were about to have sex with one of your best friends.

Eren spat on his hand before using it to lubricate his cock, focusing heavily on the head. "Are you wet enough?" He shuffled closer to you, the backs of your thighs resting atop his thighs.

"I think so." You traced your hands through your slit, feeling your fingers slip through the wetness. "You can put it in."

"Tell me if it's too much. And, seriously, make sure you're quiet." Eren warned as he began to slide his tip through your lips. You bit the inside of your cheek at the feeling. It had your entire body hot and squirming.

However as soon as Eren began to push in, your breath hitched and you placed a hand on his lower stomach. "Go slower."

Eren listened to your request and began to slow his movements. "How's that?" His voice was already strained as he entered you further. Looking up, you were met with sultry eyes as stray hairs fell in Eren's face. It only made you so much wetter.

"Fuck, that's okay. You can go faster now." Removing your hand from his stomach, you gripped onto the pillow your head was on.

Stopping temporarily, Eren reached for one of the other pillows. "Here." He lifted your lower body off the mattress before sliding the pillow underneath you. Letting out a gasp, you slightly flinched at the feeling of his cock impaling you so quickly with the movement. "Sorry." As he rested you back down, your pelvis was somewhat elevated off the bed and you felt so fucking full.

Eren's cock was without a doubt the biggest you had ever taken and paired with the fact that you hadn't fucked for a while, your head was spinning. "Oh fuck-"

"Shh." Eren leaned forward, his elbows beside your head as he pulled his dick out ever so slightly before thrusting inwards again. If your stomach didn't flip at that, it was at the lewd words he followed up with. "You feel so good, shit." Whispering breathlessly, Eren swooped down to take you in for a kiss.

His loose hairs tickled your skin as your tongues rubbed up against one another. Your kisses had turned extremely sloppy and desperate yet neither of you minded. The saliva that was coating your mouth was nothing compared the the feeling of Eren's thick cock rubbing perfectly against your insides.

When he pulled away, you were left whimpering with your lip between your teeth. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him, barely managing to stop your eyes from rolling back. You already felt so fucked out you just wanted to scream.

It was something about the plumpness of the pillow beneath you that had Eren's dick hitting such good squishy spots upon certain thrusts. Each time, you'd hiccup slightly, your hands grabbing at anything they could reach. You loved it. It felt so fucking good it had your entire body feeling so tingly you had to shut your eyes. "Fuck- fuck me..."

Eren sat back on his knees and brought your legs up. Placing them over his shoulder, he began to fuck deeper than he had before. Your eyes shot open and your mouth dropped into an 'o'. "Fuck yes." Eren threw his head back, a red flush painting its way down his chest. You watched as his adam's apple bobbed before he brought his eyes back down to you. "Your pussy is so- fuck." He swallowed a moan before placing your legs back down.

Eren grabbed onto your tits, moulding and plying the fat beneath his palms. He pinched at your nipples before flicking them. "Haah!" You succumbed to the pleasure, calling out only to be shushed by Eren. "Fuck, 'm sorry."

Blowing raspberries, he slowed his thrusts as he pulled away from your tits. "Can't stay quiet?" He taunted whilst turning to the door as if there would be someone standing there. "Turn around." Finally, he pulled out and allowed for you to move onto your stomach.

Two large hands grasped around your hips as he tugged you down so that you were over the pillow once again. Bending over you, he slid a hand beneath you and rubbed your lower stomach as he entered once more. "Feel me here?" He cooed as he pressed hard on your lower stomach. You almost choked at the feeling: your pussy so full and being stimulated so well. It was making your toes curl as you bit the pillow that your head was on. "You're so fucking tight like this, Jesus Christ."

Sitting up, Eren removed the hand that was on your stomach and gripped your hips. Sure, you felt tighter but the way Eren's cock stuffed you to the brim and had you feeling so full was orgasmic. You sobbed into the pillow, kicking your legs as you teetered on overstimulated while Eren fucked you nice and good.

When you said he fucked you, you meant he fucked you. He was borderline fucking you up with his unrelenting pace and his deep, stimulating thrusts. If you knew that he would've made you feel so fucking good, you would've brought sex up so much sooner. You never believed that you could become addicted to something after the first time but holy fuck were you addicted to the feeling of Eren's throbbing cock sliding against your walls.

It was when he laid on top of you once more, peppering kisses along your nape when you felt it. Tingles shot through your and your lower stomach filled with pressure from the raw feeling of your g spot being rubbed so good. "Oh my fucking god-" you hiccuped through gasps and cries as you began to fidget beneath Eren. "Keep going..."

"Is that good?" Eren whispered against the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. When you whined an 'mhm' he slowed once again. Upon his change of pace, you let out another whine of frustration only for him to kiss your cheek and fully pull out.

"Are you edging me?" You frowned as Eren laid on his back.

"I just wanna see your face when you cum." Eren stroked himself as he spoke before tapping your thigh, encouraging you to straddle him. "And I just- I really wanna keep fucking you." He bit his lip as he thumbed your hips. "You feel so good."

His confession shortened the time you would have lasted, making you desperately grab at his dick and line it up with yourself. As soon as you sank down, your eyes fluttered shut. Eren's tip was kissing another spot that made your legs go numb. "You're- it's so deep."

"I know. But it’s so good." Eren brought his hand to your clit, thumbing at the sensitive nub as you began to find your pace. You swivelled your hips over him, feeling the pressure in your lower stomach building once more and ten times quicker.

As you continued to move over Eren, the faded, numb feeling you had filled all of your limbs. The only way you could move over him was because it was causing you so much pleasure you couldn't stop. It felt as if you were losing control. You were barely holding yourself together.

Eren removed his hand from your clit and began to trail his hands over your tits once more. He caressed your sternum before using one hand to grope your chest while the other gripped your hip.

He looked incredibly wasted thr entire time you stuffed yourself with his cock too. You looked down to see his hair sticking to his forehead and his mouth slightly open. The look behind his eyes was one of pure lust and arousal. He looked like he wanted to completely devour you.

You planted your feet on the mattress and used his chest as leverage as you raised yourself up before sinking back down on his dick. The stretch you felt with each drop made your eyes water and your eyebrows fly upwards and inwards.

That pace seemed to get Eren going as you felt his cock throb violently inside of you. He stared at the spot where the two of you were connected, unable to take his eyes off of the way you sucked him in so well apart from when he was tossing his head back in pleasure.

It just wasn't enough though, If you wanted to have an overwhelmingly good orgasm, you needed to be fucked. You needed more than just your own pace. You needed Eren to grind up into you, hitting all of the good places that you couldn't reach yourself. You needed to go dumb on his cock. "Please fuck me, Eren."

"You wanna cum?" Eren lifted your arms off of his knees and moved one to his shoulder. When you nodded, he moved the other arm down to your clit. "Touch yourself."

You began moving your fingers over your clit as instructed while Eren placed a hand on your back. He pushed you forwards so that your faces were dangerously close. From there, he grabbed your hips, planted his feet on the floor and began to fuck up into you.

It didn't take long for Eren to find that spot that made your blood run cold once again. He knew he had hit it when you yelped out a curse. It was loud. Fuck. You were being so loud but Eren really didn't want to stop.

"Fuck. Shut the fuck up." Eren grabbed you by your neck— though he would've argued he was meant to grab your jaw— and pulled you down for a kiss. He swallowed your sounds as he continued to thrust and you continued to rub at your clit.

However, with the constant abuse of all of your good spots, you found yourself almost completely losing control of your body. Seriously, you felt like you were going to pass out. Eren seemed to have noticed as you slowly failed in kissing him back and so he placed a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to rest your head in the crook of his neck.

You began to writhe and wiggle uncontrollably as Eren rubbed your insides sore. It felt so good that you almost couldn't take it. A rough and calculated fucking paired with your clitoral stimulation had you unable to stay still.

"Calm down, Y/n." Eren lightly traced his fingers along your sides before gripping your hips with unknown strength. "Why are you squirming so much? Are you gonna cum?"

"Don't stop. Please don't stop, fuck!" You placed your open palms either side of Eren's head as you felt the familiar ripples of pleasure crash through you. "Yesyesyes oh my god-" Your eyes squeezed shut only for them to abruptly open once more as Eren forced a hand over your mouth. You stared at him with panic in your eyes as you came so incredibly hard. You completely lost control of yourself: legs trembling; pussy fluttering; stomach flexing. You definitely hadn't cum that hard before, it almost felt like some sort of dream.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt Eren throb inside of you. It wasn't a usual throb, you knew he was about to cum. The only thing your body could do was clench around him as you stirred through your own orgasm, unable to think about much else.

Eren took it as your permission to cum inside of you. He was wearing a condom after all. With a couple final thrusts, Eren buried his cock as far as he could into your warm, wet, plushy pussy and let himself empty inside of you. "Fuuuucckkk." Hot, thick spurts of his cum flew out of his tip, flying into the condom. His own eyes rolled back beneath closed lids as he groaned involuntarily at the euphoric feeling.

Having you orgasm around him only prolonged his own orgasm, making his fingers dig into the plush of your ass as he bit his lip, occasionally thrusting deeper while pulling you lower down. The feeling of being buried into your was so fucking good he could've sworn that he had two orgasms in a row as more thick releases pumped out of his cock. Eren came so hard and so much he was almost sure that he would throw up right after what with the swirling in his stomach.

Yet, all things came to an end soon enough as Eren hesitantly removed a shaky hand from your mouth. The air hit the condensation around your lips and the perspiration along your skin making you instantly turn cold. Breathing heavily, you looked around the room, dumbly making sure no one had somehow snuck in.

"You okay?" Eren held both of your hips as he gave you a goofy grin.

"Mhm." You took in the state of your room, clothes all over the floor and the duvet hanging off the edge of the bed. "I can't believe we just did that."

"Me neither." Eren patted your thigh. "Up." He slowly lifted you off of his softening dick, wincing in the process.

However, once Eren removed you from his dick the condom, his cum was nowhere to be seen. "What the fuck?" Remnants painted the tip but when he pulled it off, a gaping hole was apparent. "Oh shit."

You would've said something, anything, but you were stunned into silence as your jaw slacked. Eren looked up at you, alarm present on his face as he tapped your thigh. "Go pee, then get in the shower. Try get it all out."

"Eren... I-"

"Sasha gave you the condoms, right? She'll have plan b. She has to." Eren began to shuffle through the pile on the floor for the clothes that he was previously wearing. "Go! I'll get it from her room."