↯ genre and warnings: college au, fluff, someone please be gentle with this boy i’m begging you, jean and eren pretending they don’t give a fuck about each other whilst actually being best bros for the win
↯ word count: 2k
↯ summary: based off of that reddit post about some guy talking about his girlfriend washing his hair for the first time + hoping it fills a request for someone asking for reader playing with eren’s hair for the first time :’)
↯ notes: this is cross-posted and edited slightly from another blog in a completely separate fandom, so if you’ve seen it before, no you didn’t </2
Jean can’t say that he immediately noticed a pep in Eren’s step when the green-eyed boy met him in the library, but what he does notice is the stupid, dopey looking grin and starry-eyed gaze in his eyes that he’s sporting while he’s not doing his part for their project. And while Jean considers himself relatively attractive, he knows for sure Eren isn’t shy about making it known that he doesn’t; so the brunette doubts the literal heart eyes Eren has are for him.
“Eren? Eren, bro, are you good?” Jean calls, a dark eyebrow raised above his left eye. Eren barely registers the calls of his name, and it takes Jean waving his hands in front of the shorter’s face for him to wake from his trance, looking up at Jean with that same, longing smile (that’s, admittedly, starting to creep him the fuck out).
“Yeah,” Eren sighs, something reminiscent of a lovelorn cartoon prince, as he rests his elbow atop his notebook and his chin the palm of his hand, “I’m good.”
Jean looks at him, skeptical and confused. He shifts in his seat, but Eren’s eyes don’t follow—he just stares ahead, lost in thought and completely unaware of everything around him. He looks like a lovesick little bitch if you ask Jean. Or completely sloshed.
Slowly, Jean leads forward, eyebrows pinched, looking for streaks of red in Eren’s eyes, “Are you stoned right now?”
“What?” Eren pulls back, almost offended, “No, I’m not high—Jean, what the fuck?”
Jean simply shrugs, leaning back into his seat, “I dunno. Yesterday you were so stressed about your acrobatic salt cycle samples—”
“—Acetylsalicylic acid. It’s basically Asprin, and I wasn’t stressed, they just weren’t crystallizing the they way they’re supposed to—”
“I don’t fucking care. But now you look mellow as hell,” Jean cuts him off, “Just thought maybe you rolled a good one before coming here or something. Not that I’m judging, of course. But you’re much more of a lightweight than you think, so try not to go—”
“‘M not a fucking lightweight,” Eren groans, “You and Reiner are just heavy bodied.”
“Just admit you can’t hold your shit, Jaeger.”
“I’m not admitting shit. Mikasa makes strong drinks, that’s all.”
Randomly remembered this cute drabble of eren where he’s dating reader and him and jean are working on a project together and they kinda start talking about their significant others washing their hair and how they love it and they bond over that and it’s making me melt and mad that I can’t find it anymore </3
“Don’t you want to give it a try? I mean, haven’t you ever thought about it?”
⟡ content: roommate eren jaeger x female reader, modern au, explicit language, explicit sexual content, reader discretion advised. 18+
⟡ word count: ~10k
⟡ rewritten and reposted from my old blog | read on ao3
It wasn’t anything more than a passing thought when Eren realized he hadn’t seen you since he’d been home. Sure, it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary, considering your boyfriend’s shoes were strewn near the front door (Eren tripped over one earlier), but he thought you would have come out of your room for a snack or a trip to the bathroom or something by now.
Perhaps it was best to give you two some privacy.
On Eren’s way out, he opted to text you rather than knock on your door to see if you needed anything. He took his time gathering his wallet and keys, but even after a couple of minutes, you still hadn’t opened the message. He got the hint, loud and clear.
The five-minute drive to the corner store didn’t eat up much time, and Eren spent the first half of the hour trying to figure out how to kill the next. He stalled for as long as he could, running down a mental checklist of household essentials and uselessly debating between soda brands. But after a while, he started to feel like a weirdo for stalking every aisle twice over.
Eren didn’t like being at the apartment when your boyfriend was there. It wasn’t anything personal—okay, maybe it was a little personal, he could admit. Eren had told you before that he was a major douchebag, but hey, at least he was honest.
Anyway, it wasn’t like anyone wanted to be around when their roommate was getting laid, but Eren had nowhere else to be and a gas tank bordering on empty. He couldn’t even take the long way home.
Somewhere in his gut, Eren hoped you’d be there to greet him when he returned instead of just your boyfriend’s shoes. Not for any special reason; he was just bored. What was the point of having a roommate if they always stayed locked away in their bedroom?
Of course, you’d only been ‘locked away’ for a handful of hours, but that felt more like an eternity to Eren—always one for dramatics. It was an ordinary Tuesday night, with nothing to see or do except wait until he was tired enough for bed. He couldn’t even enjoy the show he’d been watching because you scolded him for putting on an episode while you were out. ‘I can’t believe you watched our show without me!’ Eren wasn’t sure when the ‘our show’ thing started, because it didn’t even seem like you’d been paying attention.
Unfortunately for him, when Eren stepped through the front door, you weren’t curled in your usual nook on the couch. Your boyfriend’s shoes were still annoyingly kicked to the side, and not a single thing had changed since he left. The apartment wasn’t spacious, which made the silence even more eerie as Eren slipped off his shoes. Even the metallic clang of his keys on the table felt out of place. Something was off.
Before he could put his finger on it—before he could even crack open his bottle of soda—the first sign of life in the apartment showed itself in the form of shouting. Eren couldn’t tell if it was coming from you or your boyfriend. Probably both.
Your bedroom door swung open; Eren didn’t see it but heard the swoosh of it, the rickety wood shrieking on its hinges. Your boyfriend stormed down the hallway, shoulders tensed and hands drawn into tight fists at his sides.
What did Eren say about him being a douchebag again?
He shot Eren this downright nasty glare for no good reason, flagrantly huffing and puffing his way to snatch his jacket. He was rough with it, leaving the chair wobbly but still upright.
Prickly and mere seconds away from acting on it, Eren’s disgust curled at his lip to return the sneer. But the asshole had slammed the door behind him before Eren could ask what the hell his problem was.
The apartment went dead quiet once more. Though your boyfriend was gone, the strangely thick, suffocating air lingered on. Eren didn’t know what to make of it. He couldn’t move, feet planted like they had taken root in the center of the living room. He didn’t want to know what just happened, lest he wished to get wrapped up in your relationship drama, but he carried this dreaded feeling he was about to learn, regardless. Especially once the sniffling began, faint but spilling from your room and into the hall.
Your bedroom door was still open. Eren grazed his knuckles against it, carefully trying to catch your attention. You only saw his head at first, tentatively poking around the corner. Only after he decided the coast was clear did he make himself known, leaning against the doorframe like he always did when he had something to tell you.
Your initial instinct was to hide your face, to swat away the tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. It was your best attempt at collecting yourself, but it was worthless because Eren had already glimpsed the puffy-eyed look on your face.
You straightened out, uncrumpling your legs and letting them dangle from the edge of your bed. You started fumbling over snot-coated words. “God, sorry. I probably look like a mess.”
Eren didn’t know why you were apologizing, and immediately he felt a pang of sympathy. Despite how it struck him iron-hot in his chest, he didn’t know what to do with the feeling. His body stiffened.
Thinking (hoping) you’d laugh, or at the very least chuckle, he didn’t disagree. Instead, he pitched you a boyish yet well-meant, “What’s new?”
You pulled a face but otherwise ignored the comment, reaching toward the box of tissues sat on your nightstand. Eren was surprised there were any left, considering what appeared to be dozens surrounding you. Balled up and scattered across your bed, the floor, and even one on your lap. He didn’t want to, but he took a cautious step into your room. Then another, squeamishly watching as you loudly blew your nose.
He should say something, shouldn’t he?
“So,” Eren started, rocking back on his heels once. “What happened?”
You glanced over at him, still looking pretty rough. Streaks of mascara had smeared across the crests of your cheeks, even up to your temples, tinging them like soot. You sucked in a breath and answered, “We broke up.” Between the words, your bottom lip quivered. “He broke up with me.”
Eren’s stomach seized up as he fought off his primal urge to back away slowly and retreat into his bedroom. Say what you want about Eren—label him a cynic or accuse him of being heartless—but he didn’t particularly enjoy dealing with others’ emotions. To put it bluntly, he felt repulsed by them. Most especially, the waterworks that typically accompanied them.
He averted his eyes like you were some tragic spectacle. He hated seeing you like this. It was such a bummer, no different from spotting a kitten forgotten in a rainstorm. He wished he could console you, find an umbrella and run to your rescue, but that was much more complicated than it sounded.
If he had known about the breakup earlier (if you had responded to his text message), he would have brought you something back from the store. Ice cream or red wine—the stuff he’d seen in movies—he didn’t know.
Ugh.
Eren remembered his bottle of soda, still sealed with its condensation cooling his hand. He extended it to you, offering, “Here. You can take this, if you want.”
Hidden behind your face as you swiped away tears, you grimaced.
“What? No, I don’t want that right now,” you grumbled. Eren could be such an idiot sometimes.
Your voice was sour enough to sting, as if he had purposefully salted your brand-new wound. Eren’s face said enough—a resounding yikes—but he continued digging his own grave.
Eren tossed his head in the general direction of the front door. “You know, he probably hasn’t gotten too far. I could go kick his—”
“I think I just want to be left alone.”
“Well, what if we—”
“Seriously, Eren,” you snapped. “Go away.”
Tears collected in the corners of your eyes again, welling up like dew. Then, your bottom lip did that trembling thing again. It must have embarrassed you, and that was why you rushed to slam the door in Eren’s face. At least, that was what he told himself, rather than admit he was only making things worse—that maybe he was the last person you wanted to see right then.
Honestly, Eren began thinking that was the case, and not just in that instance but over the coming days.
It had been over a week since that night, a very strange eleven days in the cramped apartment you both called home. It wasn’t like you to keep to yourself. Even when Eren first moved in, when he was little more than a stranger to you, you liked his company. You even told him. ‘I just like having someone to talk to. That’s all.’ And you’d do just that, chatting to pass the time it’d take to wash the dishes or whatever other menial task you were up to. Eren never minded, but it did make adjusting to the newfound quietness that much more difficult. He could even admit he missed your unnecessary commentary while he watched TV.
He supposed it was naïve to hope you’d bounce back from a breakup after only a week, but were you really that hung up on this guy?
No, Eren was sure you were giving him the cold shoulder for badgering you minutes after your boyfriend had stormed out on you. Not that it wasn’t deserved, but for the record, you still hadn’t apologized for slamming the door in his face.
Neither of you wanted to lose this childish stand-off, nor were you above butting heads like a couple of rams, if given the right provocation.
To outsiders, the two of you may seem like an unlikely pair. Eren wasn’t your original roommate; that was your friend Mikasa. After a few months of living together, she was offered a temporary position at her dream company a few hours south of here, well out of commuting range. That turned into an offer for a full-time job, just as her friend Eren’s sublease on her bedroom turned into a more permanent arrangement. The two of you have shared this apartment for well over a year now, for no other reason than that it just worked. Things were as simple as that.
So, one could imagine why Eren had so much trouble wrapping his head around the situation. By now, it was customary, borderline a requirement of living together, for you to annoy each other. You’d poke and poke and poke, as roommates tend to, and no matter what, the other would come around, eventually. Eren always did. You always did.
Except this time, even Eren’s bribes didn’t work on you. Not even a latte from your favorite cafe (conveniently located on his walk home from the gym) softened you. That was when he knew the situation was dire. Worse than when you discovered he’d been snitching from your expensive hair products in the shower. Things had become awkward, tense, and frankly, unbearable.
It was Saturday night, probably creeping into Sunday morning. Eren’s eyes burned, looking a bit bloodshot the last time he saw himself in the bathroom mirror. He took it as a sign to shut off his computer.
You still weren’t home. Eren didn’t know where you’d gone off to, but he didn’t care—though his rampant curiosity said otherwise. Throughout the night, he’d excuse himself from his video game, telling his friends he’d be back in a second, and on his way to ransack the kitchen for the umpteenth time, he’d check to see if your purse was in its rightful spot: draped over the back of the chair. For whatever reason, your absence irked him.
You knew there was a chance Eren would still be awake when you returned home. You just didn’t expect to bump into him.
From the entryway, with your coat halfway down your arms and sagged around your elbows, you saw Eren emerge from his bedroom. He had a hand shielding his squinted eyes as they adjusted to the brash overhead light.
His white t-shirt held the wrinkles of his bedsheets. By the look of it, it was an old shirt. Its collar drooped in the front, and its hemline appeared slightly threadbare against his sweatpants. He must have fallen asleep with his hair tied back, stray strands dreaming his cheekbones and curtained his lidded eyes.
He blinked a few times, then let his hand slump to his side. He studied you with a judgmental once-over. “Did you just get home?” He sounded as groggy as he looked.
“Yeah,” you replied. It was a dumb question, given your current state of toying with your strappy heels, balancing with a hand planted against the wall as you tried to slip them off.
Eren retrieved his phone from his pocket. “It’s almost three in the morning.” He showed you the screen as if you requested proof.
“So?”
“What were you doing out that late?”
You couldn’t decipher his tone, and for the life of you, you couldn’t read the expression on his face. For once, it was blank. Tired, but blank.
“It’s none of your business,” you snarked.
“It is when you wake me up.”
You had difficulty believing you’d woken him up in the thirty seconds you’d been home. Regardless, you brushed him off with, “I was out with a friend.”
You were purposefully vague because it really was none of Eren’s business. But you let your attitude seethe to the forefront, and with it, an implication you didn’t intend. He gave you this look, stern and accusatory, but more than anything, he appeared absolutely baffled by you.
“You didn’t.”
He actually thought you went crawling back to your ex.
You decided not to correct him.
“You can’t be serious? After what he did?” he said, referring to the nasty breakup. “After everything?” Referring to the rest.
You were aware Eren had become an unlucky bystander to your relationship, frequently caught in the fallout of every nuclear fight.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, wiping the sleep from the corners of his eyes. “You could be with anyone you want. Why go back to him?”
You felt insulted that he’d think so lowly of you. To think you were in need of a fatherly lecture—and from him of all people. The audacity, you thought, not reading between the lines when you barked back, “So what if I did? Why do you even care so much?”
Eren didn’t care. What possibly gave you the impression he cared? You were a big girl, you could date whoever you pleased. You were certainly doing whatever you pleased; the only reason he was talking to you—the only reason he was awake—was because of you. Loudly stumbling through the door in the middle of the night, completely unwilling to consider his perspective on the situation.
A situation you created, by the way. Not just tonight, but eleven days ago. A situation that didn’t need to exist in the first place. The drama, the theatrics—none of it. You must have forgotten Eren wasn’t the one who dumped you. So, in his mind, the better question was:
“Why are you being like this?”
You defensively folded your arms across your chest. “Like what?”
Eren opened his mouth, raring to sling some smart-ass comment your way, but he merely stammered. He blamed it on the fact that he was torn from his bed and immediately thrown into the ring with you. But truth be told, he could have had eight hours of sleep and a shot of espresso, and he would still suck at this sort of thing. You know, emotions.
Words failed him miserably. He gave up on them and waved a hand over you as if you were supposed to know what that meant. “Weird and stuff.”
“Weird and stuff,” you mocked with a scoff. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”
“You’re never here anymore,” Eren said in exasperation. “And when you are, you’re ignoring—no, you’re actively avoiding me.”
You wanted to do exactly that: roll your eyes and stomp off to your bedroom. Eren knew that. He dared you to prove him right.
In a way, ending a feud was much like defusing a bomb. Both had you backed into a corner, forcing you to decide on instinct alone. Clip a wire, red or blue, the choice was yours, and cross your fingers that it was over. You could deny, deny, deny. You could put it off for one more day, just to see if it actually explodes. Or you could end it.
You gave a reluctant exhale. “I went out for drinks with Sasha. We went to her place after, got to talking, and I lost track of the time.” He sighed, too. You watched his shoulders sink. “The breakup was long overdue. I don’t think one night out would change anything between us.”
You told Eren the truth not because it was any of his business but because of the guilt pitting in your stomach. Yes, he was upset you woke him up, you understood that. But hearing him now, you realized his testiness ran much deeper than that.
The tension in the room eased its grip on your throats. You sensed Eren was about to offer you some cliché, something about there being more fish in the sea. But if it were anything like his last attempt at cheering you up, you weren’t interested.
You talked over him, confessing, “He dumped me because of you.”
The sentence fell to the floor with a blundering splat. You plopped this thing between you, then expected him to know what to do with it.
Eren’s eyes narrowed, flickering over you from head to toe. He took in your words, scrutinized and dissected them. Before he could draw his own hasty conclusions, you explained, “That’s the reason he broke up with me—why I’ve been avoiding you.”
He snorted derisively. “That’s a load of bullshit.”
“That’s what I said. But he told me I either had to move out—either find a place of my own or live with him, or it was over.”
The mood shifted. Eren stared back at you apprehensively, waiting for you to go on as if you hadn’t already made up your mind and break your lease on the spot. He couldn’t fathom the obvious answer.
“And?”
You exaggerated it when you held your arms out at your sides. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
You stared and stared at him, but for once, Eren had nothing to say. You finally disarmed him. He tucked his hands into his pockets in his own Eren-y way of surrender.
“It sounds stupid, but I like what we have. I like this,” you said earnestly, even if you weren’t quite sure what this was: your living situation, your roommate-ship, your friendship with Eren. Whatever your set-up was, it was comfortable, and maybe it was just some lame proverb, but you couldn’t help but think: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
You shrugged. “And I’m definitely not about to ditch it for some jealous douchebag.”
Eren finally cracked. His lips bowed into a small smile. “At least you can finally admit it.”
Deep down, like way down in there, you recognized that none of what happened was Eren’s fault, but that didn’t lessen the blow. Rather than facing it, you thought it was easier to pretend as if Eren wasn’t there, just for a while. Irrational, yes, but it was your gut reaction. And by the time you realized how petulant you’d been acting, you were too ashamed to fess up to it. All you needed was a bit of cornering, it seemed.
You and Eren were too close, apparently. That was what your ex-boyfriend believed for however long he chose to keep the thought to himself. He stewed on it, no more than a simmer at first, until the whole ordeal came to a seething boil, splattering you when you removed the lid and asked, ‘Why have you been so distant lately?’
Once the argument ensued, it was as though you no longer spoke the same language. Anything you said, any explanation you gave, wasn’t good enough. To him, you were irredeemable. He’d already set his mind on the ultimatum before he even spoke to you.
You weren’t oblivious to the fact that some may find it strange that you live with one man while in a relationship with another, but was it truly that bizarre a concept? That was how the card fell, so you made the best of the hand you were dealt. Which really wasn’t all that difficult, to be honest.
Once he started listing everything you’d done wrong over the months, you put together just how long your living arrangement with Eren had been bothering him. He even went as far as to count your crimes on his fingers. Looking back, you wish you’d stopped him there. No one needed to be dating that kind of person, anyway.
Firstly, and what appeared to be your gravest sin, was that he despised it when you borrowed Eren’s hoodies—which, in your defense, never happened often. Eren left them thrown around the apartment, so you’d only grab them to empty the trash when it was raining or if you went to grab coffee on a chilly day. According to your ex, he was ‘always’ finding them in your room.
Okay, maybe you could appreciate his perspective on that one, but he should have mentioned it sooner. His second reason—and this was where they started sounding silly—was that he ‘always’ heard Eren in the background of your calls. You told him it was far-fetched to think Eren’s naturally loud demeanor was somehow your fault.
Then he became more upset. He ridiculed you for, in his words, being all ‘Eren this, Eren that’ about everything. Another exaggeration. If you turned to Eren, it was only out of convenience because he was right across the hall. You never had a chance to explain this, he didn’t give you one, so you tuned out the rest of his reasons, more focused on trying to make sense of the tailspin he’d sent you in.
Then, it hit you. Not like a smack across the face—it was stealthier than that. It prowled from behind in a low rumble, creeping down your spine before pouncing, taking you captive in one go.
“Eren?”
The mildness in your voice took you by surprise. You spoke his name in a quiet request, the same way you would if you needed a favor from him (you did). Immediately, he appeared suspicious, but he met your eye and acknowledged you with knitted brows.
Whenever you needed something, you turned to Eren.
You had to choose your words carefully now, but there was no careful way to go about this, really.
You bit down on your bottom lip, unwittingly wetting it. “Would you… kiss me?”
What you needed now was to forget. To lose yourself in someone else, just for a night.
The softness in Eren’s voice contended with your own. “Why?”
He didn’t say no. His expression certainly didn’t say no, either. And he didn’t dare draw back when you neared him.
Sasha spent the night encouraging you to find a hookup, telling you the only way to get over someone was to get under another. But meeting someone new was hard.
“I don’t know,” you slowly said. “Just want to.”
Eren flinched when you laid the tips of your fingers on the back of his wrist. You grazed them higher along his arm, noting how the hairs stood up as you went.
“Don’t you,” you started, in an almost seductive way. “Don’t you want to give it a try? I mean, haven’t you ever thought about it?”
Eren sucked in a breath and his lips went with it, pinched between his teeth. He didn’t know what to do. Thoughts juggled around in his head; he couldn’t hold onto one without losing another. It didn’t help that the sight of you was incredibly distracting, either. He shut his eyes tight because he was pretty certain he was about to kiss you.
This was a terrible idea. Downright awful. But even so, he couldn’t say it was all that bad once he felt your hand on his chest, even if it made his heartbeat hammer.
Eren opened his eyes to your face and nothing else. He took you in, from the top of your head to the very tip of your chin. Your hair was a bit out of place, as expected for three in the morning, but your eyes were as bright as ever. Something about them was alluring, though Eren couldn’t pin it. They grew larger and larger until they were out of focus. Closing in, your noses brushed, and Eren’s ‘yes’ died on his lips as he placed them on yours—an answer to both your questions.
Losing his words between your lips, even as he asked, “Should we be doing this?” he couldn’t stop kissing you.
You inched back but remained close enough for your breath to warm him when you asked, “Why not?”
Eren knew you didn’t need him to break it down for you. You were Mikasa’s friend and his roommate. Someone he needed to keep the peace with, even if you were making it difficult.
“Wouldn’t it make things weird?”
“I thought I already made things weird. And stuff,” you teased. He shot you an unamused glare, which you’d anticipated. “Whatever. You already pop a boner when you see me after a shower. Do you really think this is what will make things weird?”
Heat scorched the tips of Eren’s ears. There was no way you knew about that. Unless you were looking for it, he supposed, but thinking about that made him more nervous.
It was that damn robe of yours. The one you only wore once in a blue moon; the telltale sign laundry day was overdue. Eren had only seen you in it a handful of times, incidentally, when you’d pass by one another, but he could picture it easily. The frail piece of fabric hardly counted as a robe, bordering on see-through, clinging to your body as you’d leave the steamy bathroom, into the cool hallway—
You lightly smacked his arm. “I’m just messing with you.”
Eren deflated in relief, but the feeling didn’t last long because you were still between his hands, resting dangerously low on your waist. His senses drizzled from him much like a leaky faucet: drop by drop, until he wasn’t sure there was even any left.
You batted your eyelashes up at him. “C’mon, you’re really going to make me get off myself?”
Now he was positive that any and all sense had completely drained from him.
Eren swallowed hard. “Will this help you get over him? Because I’d really like to never see him again if I don’t have to.”
Yeah, that worked. That was how he could justify it. He was only helping you out. Nothing more. Then the problem would be fixed, and everything would go back to normal. Better, even, because now he wouldn’t have to deal with your ex-boyfriend anymore.
“Mhm,” you murmured. Desire had been buzzing low in your stomach for the better half of the evening, leaving you fuzzy enough to agree to anything he said. Anything to keep the fire in you alive and burning.
You went to kiss him again, but Eren dodged you with a small tick of his head.
“You just told me you liked this,” he said. “But now you’re willing to risk it? What if you wake up tomorrow and realize this was a mistake?”
He still struggled to understand you. He always struggled to understand you, even after living together for over a year, but this was next level. You had him utterly dumbstruck.
Let there be no misunderstanding: Eren wanted this. He was human, after all, just another twenty-something-year-old guy. Of course he wanted this. It was just that he was also very aware of the consequences.
You touched his mouth with the tips of your two fingers and pressed down on his lips to shush him. You didn’t want words; you wanted incoherency. Purposeless and meaningless sounds and syllables. Groans pulled from the back of your throats.
“If it’s a mistake, then let’s make it together.”
You invited him in with a peck at first. A taste. Then he pulled you back in to devour you whole.
Eren kissed the same way he lived: passionately, intensely, maddeningly. He was better than your ex, which you didn’t expect. The thought of what else he could do better made your stomach flip.
His palm warmed your cheek as slender fingers wrapped around the back of your head. Like an anchor, it kept your dizzy self tethered to him. He smelled of sleep, and he smelled like him. The heady scent coiled around you. You inhaled as you kissed him, and when his mouth dipped to taste the delicate skin behind your ear, you buried your nose in his hair. You imagined your face shoved in his sheets, how they’d smell the same. You’d inhale it then, too, through gasps and an open mouth.
You smoothed your hands higher up his chest, over his shoulders. Your nails gently scratched at Eren’s back, and even through his t-shirt, you set his nerves ablaze.
The nagging part of his brain demanding he pump the brakes finally shut down, his entire body thrilled by your touch. It was entirely physical, fueled by carnal desire. Eren acted solely on what he wanted, and that was for your lips to stay exactly where they were. Instead of placing his hands against your shoulders to create some distance, he molded them around your hips.
You clasped your hands around his larger ones and guided him to your ass. You squeezed down on them, encouraging him to fondle and feel you, and he took to it as if he’d already thought long about everywhere he’d like to grab.
Mistake or not, Eren knew if he ended it now, the palms of his hands would feel hollow the second you left them. To stop you now would feel like abandoning a hearth in the winter.
You didn’t bother debating between bedrooms and made the decision easy by heading for the couch. If you were being honest, you had considered fucking on this couch before—not with Eren, obviously. The cushions were deep-set, roomier than most. Though it was evident you and Mikasa didn’t spend a fortune on it, at least it was firm enough not to give out beneath you. You’d respected your roommates enough to never give it a spin before, but with Eren, everything was shared. You could do it wherever you wanted.
Eren lay you back on the couch and positioned himself above you. You wriggled below, attempting to make the space for him to fit between your legs, but it was quite the task in your jeans. You mumbled a ‘hold on’ against his mouth as you reached a hand for the button. Eren was eager to assist. Once your jeans were undone, he pulled them past your knees, freeing one leg so you could kick them off with the other.
Settling between your thighs, Eren began kissing you again, and you could practically taste the desire on his tongue. His sweatpants did little to hide how hard, and heavy, he was against your leg. You imagined that if you slipped a hand below his waistband, you would find he wasn’t wearing any boxers.
Bunching his shirt in your first, you tugged at the hem. You lifted it out of the way so you could greedily glide your hand beneath. Tracing between the divots of his abdominals, you felt how they tensed as you trailed along. Once it was established that his shirt was no longer wanted, he sat back on his calves to tear it over his head. Yours came next, but it was a bit more complicated than his cotton tee.
“What the fuck,” Eren muttered once he realized your shirt wasn’t coming off. He fiddled with the strings tied around your neck, more frantic to get under the fabric with his fingers and tongue than he was concerned with being chivalrous. “How did you even get this thing on?”
“Sasha helped,” you said, sounding a tad breathless. “It’s hers. Don’t rip it.”
“Did she have to tie it so many times?”
You arched your back as Eren slipped his hands beneath you, blindly reaching for any of the knots. The straps had been digging into your shoulders all night, marking your skin with soft indentations. With every slackened string came a sense of relief until, eventually, Eren had the shirt bunched around your midsection, your tits out. That was what mattered to him; he could figure out the rest later.
He cupped your breast in his hand and brought his mouth to you. Your skin was supple and smooth under his impatient lips, balmy and warm from being pressed against him. With a pointed tongue, he flicked over your nipple until it perked. He sucked lightly until your breathing turned fluttery, then pulled off to thumb at it, mouthing over to your other nipple.
Eren’s touch was resolute, weighed down by hunger as his hand mapped its way down your side. The sensation both unnerved and ignited you—the titillating vulnerability that was being with someone new; how he caressed you for the purpose of exploring, learning for himself what you liked best.
Heat pooled in your stomach. Lapped at you like the tides, though far less tranquil. Summery waters lured you in, kept you still and contented beneath Eren, kissing him, letting him kiss you everywhere. From your neck to the dip in the center of your collarbone, focusing the most on your breasts. He made his way down to your hipbones, where it tickled the most. He must have liked the sound you made, something of a giggle, because he grazed his teeth there, pulling the noise from you again.
But as was certain, the tides would ebb. Tepid waves turned into sea swells. Deep in your stomach, that dull yet glowy ache begged you to do something about it, and fast. Your hips kneaded into him, inviting him to tear off your underwear and fuck you already, please.
Eren hooked the band of your underwear with his finger, toyingly sliding it along your stomach. You twitched, frustratingly helpless to him. You bit back a strangled murmur urging him to get on with it.
He sat back, eyes transfixed on where you wanted him most. And he knew just how badly the damp stain left on your underwear.
Eren pressed the pad of his thumb to it, his other fingers resting against your belly. He made soft circles against you, slow and testing. He observed every flick and flinch in your expression, his mouth slightly slackened in a smile that widened with each of your whimpers.
When he finally decided to take off your underwear, it revealed just how wet you were for him—your roommate. The back of your neck fevered when you noticed the lewd string connecting you to the soaked fabric. Eren snapped it with his thumb, and your eyes widened when you watched him bring it to his mouth.
He didn’t anticipate going down on you. You only wanted to get off, and so did he, and a quick fuck would achieve that. But as he played with your clit, your tiny moans had him craving to hear how you sounded when you were wrecked and sobbing out for more. And with the way you were spread and dripping below him—well, he didn’t want any of it to go to waste. Not with how sweet you tasted.
So without hesitation, Eren dove between your thighs, gripping you by the hips and pulling you against the heat of his mouth.
You threw your head back, and it smacked the armrest with a thud loud enough to catch Eren’s attention. He glanced up to check on you, and you found the sight of him inexplicably striking. You didn’t know why, but it was as if his piercing eyes had you pinned to the spot for him, like he had control despite being down between your legs. You went blind to anything but him and his eyes, dazzlingly green against the flush tinting his cheeks.
Once he realized you were (more than) all right, Eren pressed a kiss against your clit before swiping his tongue through you. You shivered as he licked you with broad, lazy strokes of his tongue, savoring you, the button tip of his nose nudging your clit.
“Oh, god,” you breathed sharply. Chin tucked to your chest, you let out a series of heavenly moans that were anything but holy.
Eren parted you with two fingers. He added more pressure with his tongue as he swirled around your clit. You screwed your lips together rather than allow another cry to spill from you and let the neighbors learn how debauched you sounded when Eren made you come. When he closed his lips around your clit, sucking gently, you had no choice but to bite your knuckles.
Admittedly, you had wondered before if he was actually talented at this, or if the girls on the other side of his bedroom wall were only trying to boost his ego. He’d answered that for you tonight, by delving his tongue inside you and fucking you with it.
“Don’t stop,” you rushed to choke out. Your back curved up from the couch cushions. “I’m almost there.”
Closer. You needed him closer.
You flung your hand to his head, raking your fingers through his hair. The useless tie slipped out as you further disheveled his bedhead. You pushed back the pieces that hid him from you, tugging as you angled him to the spot that made your thighs quiver.
“Do that again,” Eren breathed, fanning the command over you.
You did. He groaned. You felt the couch shift as he rutted into it.
Your stomach contracted, that last gasp hitching in your lungs. Whatever glorious thing he did with his tongue felt like fire licking up your spine. He brought you to the very brink of becoming undone until you felt like you were teetering it.
Eren’s mouth slipped the more you wiggled and writhed. It didn’t matter how he held you, how deep his fingers dug into your thighs, he couldn’t keep you still. At this rate, you’d fall off the couch and undoubtedly take him along with you.
Eren wrapped his hands around the backs of your knees, pinning them to your chest as a reminder to hold them out of his way. You held them there for him, whining when you felt his fingers on you in tandem with his tongue. He dragged them in and out of you, increasing his pace until he discovered the tempo that had you pulsing around him. He curled his knuckles just right, aiding his tongue in driving you to your release.
“I’m coming—Fuck, I’m coming,” you whispered, ragged and hardly audible at the end.
Eren sounded equally muffled, groaning as you started rolling your hips over his mouth. You heard him mumbling something about how fucking hot it was; you couldn’t make him out exactly, not with the way your heart thrummed loudly in your ears.
Unable to hold them up any longer, your legs fell to their sides, jittering ever so as you rode out the final pulses of your orgasm.
As you worked to find your breath, Eren planted kisses against you, trailing up from your inner thighs until the two of you were face-to-face once more.
“How was that?” he asked cheekily, grinning and everything.
You playfully pushed his face away from yours, but he continued acting smug about it as he went to kiss your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him go for the band of his sweatpants. You stopped him with a hand against his arm.
“Condom. Right.” Eren thought for a moment. “Open the side table drawer behind you.”
You frowned but reached a hand back to do so. Eren leaned over you uncomfortably, and you grumbled about it as he searched the drawer. After a second, you both fumbled around until you were sitting side by side. Him with a condom in hand, you wriggling to get your top off.
As you threw the damn thing on the floor, you complained to Eren, “Please tell me you haven’t fucked someone on our couch before.”
He looked up from fiddling with the condom and gave a weary, “No.” You clearly didn’t believe him. He tutted his tongue. “Whatever. Like you haven’t.”
“I haven’t,” you insisted.
“Well, you won’t be able to say that any longer.”
In one quick motion, he was above you once more, his hand supporting your lower back as he laid you down on the couch. You looped your arms around his neck and pulled yourself to him for a kiss.
The intensity with which Eren wanted this, wanted you, surprised him. He’d spent the better half of his night feeling bitter toward you, grumbling about how you had barely spoken in eleven days. Hours ago, he was positive you didn’t want anything to do with him. Now, it was as if you never wanted to leave his arms, and he wasn’t sure he’d let you.
The kiss was desperate, sucking tongues, skimming your teeth along them, tasting the desire on each other’s breaths. Only when he could no longer go another second without being inside you did Eren stop to catch your face. Between breaths, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Cheeks pinched between his fingers, your voice sounded squished and needy as you answered, “Yes.”
Eren’s jaw clenched at the pathetic syllable. He reached a hand down between your legs and touched you. He could play with you all night if you’d let him. So warm and wet and soft around his fingers—how much better you would feel around his cock.
He rutted against your leg in a helpless search for friction.
“Then tell me what you want.”
Eren angled your jaw higher, brought his lips against your pulse point before kissing, sucking, and nipping at it.
“Fuck,” you cursed on a delicious hiss.
“Obviously.” Eren gave a breathy laugh. “Look at me.” You tried your best with his hand still cupping your face. “How do you want me to fuck you?”
You shook free of his hand, panting, “I want it rough.” You grabbed him by the shoulders and tugged him in close. Smoothing back his hair, you took his face between your hands. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you told him, “Let me feel it.”
You spoke as if you had thought about this before. Eren couldn’t help but wonder if your ex did, in fact, have a reason to worry. But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, the only obstacle in his way was his sweatpants, which was quickly resolved by you both pawing to take them off.
You found the half-opened condom, prepping it as Eren licked his palm once and fisted his cock a few times. A sight you’d call crass if it didn’t turn you on so much. Unbothered by your staring, he took the condom from your hand and rolled it on.
Eren had you on your back, head laid on the armrest. You hitched one leg around his waist while the other dangled off the couch, giving Eren just enough room to nestle between.
He was hard against the crease of your thigh. With a hand wrapped around his base, he lined his cock up with you. The tip threatened to push inside, but he only glided between your folds in one slow, encompassing stroke. And just as slowly, an overwhelming warmth trickled down your spine.
Eren continued toying with your clit. The condom’s lube paired with your wetness made it too easy for the head of his cock to slip between you, dipping inside, teasing you. Teeming with anticipation, you were already clenching around him so nicely, and he hadn’t even put more than the tip in.
But he was just as eager, teasing himself just as much as he teased you. When Eren felt your feel dig into his lower back, wordlessly pleading with him to fuck you already, he succumbed. Not with a gentle tilt of his hips, but a plunge.
Your wilted gasp became lost somewhere in your throat. You had to swallow it down before you could choke.
Caged between Eren’s arms, you were close enough to catch the slight tremble in his biceps once he was flush against you. His eyes squeezed shut, his lips parted in a shaky and, dare you say, beautiful sigh.
Eren stalled to adjust to you. You were sensitive, squeezing around the thick of him. Of course, you felt fucking amazing, but so much tighter when he split you with his cock and not just his fingers. He took his sweet time pulling out of you, losing himself little by little as he went, just to bury inside you generously again.
He fucked you with smooth rolls of his hips. And god, it was absolutely effortless, sliding into you over and over, thanks to how wet you were. You scraped at the cushion as if it were a bedsheet, as if you could twist the taut fabric between your fingers to ground yourself.
Once Eren discovered a pace that had you both breathing hard, he let his head drop against your shoulder. You took it as an opportunity to stifle your moans, mouthing and sucking at his neck, with hands flattened against his back like you wanted him to smother you.
His skin tasted salty, and if he kissed you anywhere now, you were sure you’d taste the same. The heat between you grew more feverish by the second, leaving you grinding against each other in a sticky lust.
When the blunt of your teeth dragged over his skin, you swore his groans tapered into low whimpers. You did it again, harsher this time, biting down as the lean muscle gave easily. It kept you quiet enough but pulled another sound from Eren. He muttered some curses you couldn’t make out, and you thought you might have hurt him if not for the way his steady thrusts turned into pounding.
Already, you realized this position wasn’t going to work for long. Half of you had slipped from the couch, inch by inch with each of Eren’s thrusts. He’d hoist you back into place only for you—the pathetic, squirmy thing that you were—to nearly fall over the edge again. Then the process would repeat.
Of course, you were the ones who made this more complicated than necessary, forgoing two bedrooms, full-sized beds and all, and chose to fuck on the couch because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves long enough to think ahead.
Eren shifted upright. He closed his hands around your waist and yanked you closer to him, further down on his cock.
With a yelp, your head slipped from the armrest and bounced against the cushion. He took your wrists and pinned them above your head with a sturdy grasp. Your knees threatened to clamp around him, but he used his free hand to hold you open.
“Keep ‘em spread for me,” he growled. “Wider.”
You liked how his voice sounded then, all raspy and weighed down by lust. You’d never heard it like that before, and it gave away just how turned on he was.
You fucked like that for… You weren’t sure how long. Time was irrelevant after three a.m., right? One particularly good thrust had his elbows buckling. Unable to both hold himself up and continue his ruthless pace, he chose the third option and flipped you onto your stomach.
You leaned on your elbows against the armrest, propping yourself up. His hand forced a nice bend in your back, then smoothed lower before taking a handful of your ass. He spread you indulgently, watching as his cock disappeared inside.
Too weak to hold your head up, you let it rest against your forearms. “Fuck—you’re deep.”
When he bottomed out, the head of his cock brushed the spot that had you briefly seeing stars.
Eren slowed at your dubious remark. You cleared things up with a demand of, “Keep going.”
He began ramming into you, and you were far too gone—far too focused on coming again to hold back any longer. The noises that poured from you were pornographic. Short and breathy bleats of ‘right there, right there’ as his cock sent sparks between your legs.
Your fingers flexed and relaxed around nothing, nails piercing the meat of your palms fiercely enough to leave them tender. You didn’t know if you needed him harder or faster, and through a few choked gasps, you could only plead, “Fuck me.”
You emphasized it by rocking back on him. Eren’s hands found your hips and settled into the crease where they met your stomach.
“Let me know if it’s too much.”
He was so casual that it almost irritated you. Whatever snippy comment you wanted to make, you kept it to yourself for the sake of getting off again. And you were glad you did, because you would have eaten your words not a second later.
Eren planted one foot on the floor, giving him extra support with every thrust. The first stole your breath; the second knocked it back into you. He took you from behind, sealing every rut of his hips by jerking you back onto his cock. In the tangled spot where too much became ‘yes, yes, yes,’ you became lost in the messy throes of pleasure.
The sound of smacking skin was more severe than even your loudest of cries. Between, you could hear Eren’s grunts and huffs through his nose, restrained, but telling of just how riled up he was to be ravaging you like this. To have you take and take and take him.
You let your eyes close, only for a second, before they shot open again as you thrust over the armrest. Your chest lurched forward with the brutal snapping of his hips, and you extended a hand to the floor to brace yourself. And bent over that armrest, your ass so perfectly perched in the air for him, you let him have you.
Eren didn’t let you hang there for long, just enough for the blood to rush to your head a bit. You were blinking and dizzy as he gracelessly swung you upright so you straddled his lap. You went with him, willingly, submissively. Happily.
You sat on your knees as Eren grabbed hold of you by the waist to impale you on his cock. You gripped his biceps, throwing your head back with a moan as he took care of you, working you up and down over his length.
He looked you squarely in the face, jaw tight and eyelids heavy with determined lust. You wanted to clear the hair from his face, but before you could, you were kissing again, roughly and carelessly, with him humming as you licked into his open mouth.
When you pulled away for a breath, saliva connected his lips to yours. Eren’s eyes flitted down to your tits before returning to your face. “You look good like this,” he said, snapping the spit string with a flick of his chin.
“Like what?” you attempted to sass, but it came out warbled as he continued bouncing you in his lap. “Getting fucked by you?”
“Exactly,” he panted through a half-grin. “Gonna think about this—you taking my cock so fucking good—every time I jerk off.”
That mental image did things to you.
“Mm, fuck,” you murmured, long and sweet. You shoved a hand between your legs. “I’m close. Keep talking.”
If you’d seen it, if you hadn’t closed your eyes, you would have wanted to slap the smile off Eren’s face. He would have never suspected you’d be so into dirty talk.
“Oh, yeah? Gonna come again?” he cooed. You nodded dumbly. “Playing with yourself—whining on top of me, but you can’t get there on your own, huh? Need me to tell you to come, don’t you, pretty girl?”
The words were heavy on his breath and settled in the depths of your chest.
“Yes,” you sighed, rubbing at yourself desperately.
You sensed Eren enjoyed this—uttering such filth to you—as much as you did. Perhaps even more. His hips sputtered as they bucked into you, as if he wasn’t already rashly stuffing you to the hilt. You could already see the reddened, blotchy marks this would leave on his thighs. An unavoidable consequence of fucking like a couple of animals.
“I wanna hear you say it.”
You started rolling your hips, babbling, “I need you to make me come. Please make me come.”
His cock jolted inside you, you could feel it. But he didn’t relent; he wanted to play with you for just a bit longer.
“Tell me how pretty—ah—how pretty you’re going to look coming on my cock.”
You were right there. So close to coming that you would do just about anything—say anything—for him to keep going. It would spill from you in a drooly mess of course, but you’d say it.
“So pretty—” A shiver reverberated through your whimper, your insides ignited. “I’ll look so pretty for you when I come.”
“Fuck yeah, you will.”
He punctuated it with a firm slap on your ass, which you barely felt because you were coming, deliciously hard.
You sounded pitchy and whiny, and you already knew Eren would relentlessly tease you for it in the future. You wished you could cover your mouth, but you were too overwhelmed to do anything but hold on tighter. Pleasure hit you in ripples, and you rode out every last one of them, carving your nails into Eren’s arms like you could wring out the last drops of your orgasm.
“Goddamn,” Eren remarked, voice tight. “You needed that one, huh?”
He was right, but you wouldn’t have answered him even if you could.
When your shaky comedown finally subsided, it left you in a fog. You fell into him, hooking your chin on his shoulder. Soft, happy hums escaped you while you stayed there, satisfied, as Eren headed toward his own high.
He could have come two positions ago, but he finally allowed it to well up inside him. His hands abandoned your hips only for him to lock his arms around you, holding you there to fuck up into.
Eren’s breathing picked up, his chest heaving against you. His thrusts turned erratic until he pumped into you one last time, deep, and kept you flush against him. It was your name on his tongue, the word he buried into your neck as he groaned from the back of his throat.
You felt him throb inside you as he emptied into the condom. Gradually, he moved you over his length a few times to ease himself down. When he lifted you from his lap, his oversensitive cock slipped out from you, tearing a tiny hiss from him. After he let you go, you crumpled to the couch.
You stayed like that for a moment, staring at the ceiling, hands folded over your chest as you timed your racing heart. By the time it evened, Eren patted your leg and stood up.
He went to the bathroom—you could tell by the fluorescent light seeping into the hallway. You listened to the faucet turn on, then searched for your underwear.
You’d already wrapped yourself in a blanket and snuggled into the couch corner by the time Eren returned. Your eyes lazily followed him as he pulled on his sweatpants and double-checked that you locked the door when you came home.
Eren flicked the light off, but when he realized you weren’t following him to your respective bedrooms, he turned back to ask, “Aren’t you going to bed?”
You didn’t want to get up yet, whether it was because you were too sleepy, or because your body felt too doughy to walk—or because the thought of tomorrow now felt like a threat.
“No,” you said. You tugged the blanket to your nose and nuzzled into it. “Not yet.”
“Okay.”
You figured that was that, but instead of leaving, Eren plopped down on the other side of the couch. He answered your question before you could even open your mouth.
“I’ll stay here then, too.”
“Why?” you asked.
Eren thought it over, and though he couldn’t decide on an answer, he was just as content with, “I don’t know. Just want to.”
Everything was silver in the moonlight, barely sneaking in through cracks in the blinds. All the color had been smudged away like ink, except for Eren’s eyes. You made out the glint in them as he quoted you from earlier.
“I thought you were so mad at me for waking you up.”
“I got over it,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, for some odd reason, I’m not so tired anymore.”
You laughed through your nose, and Eren tossed back a small smile in return.
He was still shirtless—not that you minded, there was no point in modesty now—with an arm sprawled along the back of the couch. His breaths were no longer heavy, neither of yours were, but you could tell he was still cooling off from your porn star sex because he was quick to tie his hair up again. Neater this time, with every strand up and off the nape of his neck.
His neck.
Eren noticed how your eyes widened, and it freaked him out. “What?”
You stifled a cackle. “That’s a nasty hickey you got there, Eren.”
His expression fell. “Shit.” He started prodding at his neck, looking down as if he could possibly see it. “Is it that bad?”
“A little.” You leaned in to poke the bruise, but he swatted you away. It only made you giggle as you asked, “Hey, can you put on our show? The one I like.”
“You don’t even know the name of it. How can you say you like it?”
“I know it! I just… can’t remember it right now,” you said, confidently and sheepishly, if that were even possible.
Eren raised an eyebrow. “So I was just that good, huh?”
You snatched a pillow and launched it at his head. “I thought we said we weren’t going to make this weird!”
Eren broke out into the sort of laughter you only hear from someone every once in a while. One that made it feel like you could go back to the way things were—you know, before everything.
And they would, just as Eren hoped. Except now, he had a pretty good solution for the next time he pissed you off.
shoko who smokes when she's missing suguru. his lips always buzzed when he kissed her, and his mouth tasted like marlboro. he used to inhale slowly and grin cheekily as he exhaled into her mouth, while gojo coughed at the influx of smoke around them, cursing at the two of them — he never smoked, only popped hard candy or sucked on his little cola flavoured lollipops.
gojo notices. he always does. he knows she's missing him more when there's two empty packs of reds in the tiny, plastic clinic dustbin, another newly opened one stuffed in her pocket next to her gloves and wallet. its routine. she always smokes because she's always missing him.
a year after gojo's passing, for the first time, shoko finds herself buying lollipops alongside her normal cigarettes. they're artificial, all random flavours — bubblegum, watermelon, cola. she suckles on one of them slowly, allowing her tongue to go red, then she takes a drag. its familiar.
suguru always tasted like marlboro, but satoru's lips were candy.
warnings: alcohol, sex mention, i hate eren jaeger clearly
okay for starters all of yall who think eren is pulling people left and right and breaking hearts are WRONG. like actually. this man is psycho and will latch onto you like a damn leech and he will NOT let you go
also he's bi. he made out with connie at a party one time because he was too wasted to care and went "now hold on..."
he dated mikasa in like middle school and they went on one (1) date where carla dropped them off at the movies and they kissed and it was all teeth and they decided to never speak of it again
you meet eren through an org on campus that you both joined and he immediately was like heart eyes church bells ringing. he knew. he knows what he wants and he is now a man on a MISSION
will bother you incessantly. once he gets your snapchat its over. good luck!
he pesters you until you finally become endeared enough to go on a date with him and whoops now you have a 6'2 koala with green eyes and a foul mouth attached to you
he's at your house all the time. he likes the collection of candles (and will bring some over if he goes to the grocery store)
one time he brings over the scraggliest little black kitten with a huge ass smile on his face. his name is noodle, he takes his flea meds every two weeks, and he is ugly as hell. he's perfect
he's so handsy. not even in a sexual way, but he will honk your boob (if u have them) and grab your ass and be aallllll over you
he mains donkey kong in mario kart and if he loses he'll lock himself in the bathroom for an hour. don't indulge him, he's fine
pays for your hair, your nails, everything. he loves when you feel and look good and he has the money from his part-time job that he'll gladly fund your every whimsy
yknow those couples on tiktok where the girl is doing a spa night on her bf and she'll make him choose what face mask he wants and he'll grab the one he doesn't want and throws it across the room? that's eren. pamper him he loves it oh my GOD
he's like a damn husky he's so dramatic this man will scream and cry and wail over literally nothing i hate him
insists on staying the night with you every night. he's a big cuddle bug, he'll watch whatever you want (he loooves drag race) and he's happy to lay there while you toss and turn and get comfy
he needs to be all over you constantly. when y'all are having sex, he is EVERYWHERE. biting, sucking, squeezing, if he could envelope you inside his entire body to show his love he would
he starts growing his hair out a year into y'all dating to get the classic man bun. he's obsessed with his hair. carries a brush with him 24/7. but one day he walks in your house with the cabin eren undercut and he's so smug bc he looks SO GOOOODDDD
cabin eren supremacy
he's a mess around your parents. if your parents aren't cool with swearing good luck bc he has no filter
his drink of choice is natty lite im so sorry
his love language is laying on top of you like an infant and watching tiktoks with you while you scratch the hairs on his neck
he's a 2000s dad rock enjoyer which. yknow. based
he lives so casually and comfortably in your space with you and despite what everyone thinks he's a neat freak and he keeps your space nice and clean. king!
loves when u just walk around in your pjs. better if you're freshly washed up he just likes when you're clean and comfortable its hot to him
ill probs do a part 2 to this bc i never shut up about him so here u go enjoy
there’s a stirring in the air that isn't coming from the big bio mixers in the corner or from the many fridges holding testing disks or tubes.
you’re nibbling on the back of your pen, eyes stuck on the presentation in front of you.
the hairs from your colored honey blonde ponytail is leaving your back itchy over the white lab coat plastered to your body, but in all honestly, you know it has nothing to do with that.
it’s your nerves.
there’s voices everywhere. coming from speakers, from cellphones and one singular desktop. these walls could be so thin at times.
everyone except for you and sasha braus had packed up hours ago.
it's the weekend for some but for you two, it was working and cramming-end. though sasha was going to be heading out once he arrived.
there’s a voice booming in your ear, past your issued headphones. it’s coming from the instructions manual your professor, zoe hange left for you and you're usually on time but on occasions late partner, eren yeager.
the rules or in this case, tutorial is simple.
mix components a and b at the same time, they made sure to say at the same time, so you wrote it down with your sharpest, potent black ink pens.
for component c however, it’s a bit difficult. they state in a sterner voice than usual.
the wait time between the three is five minutes. not less, not any more. if it somehow goes over the wait time, they have to restart immediately.
hange goes on to say that the last students to try this out messed it up entirely and they paused.
“ -exhibited odd after effects. “ they don't classify that, or go on to explain the after effects at all and for some reason it makes it all the more worse. you chew on the tip of your black pen once more.
in no situation should component a, b and c connect if it has been over or under five minutes.
you’re stiffened by that considering something that little could be so hard to accomplish but this is for your thesis, your last one to note.
it has to go completely perfect or you're screwed.
so, when you see sasha, the deer-like goddess sitting at her desk perk up from a sound that isn't from social media. you already know he’s here.
eren, your co-dependent thesis partner since this year.
he’s great for the most part, besides from how awkward it can be when he falls into the groove of silence and pots slurring.
there are fun times, like when he dropped a kettle in the break room and his first instinct was to play dead…?
that still gets to you til this day, or when he looks at you sincerely for help instead of saying anything,
he’s just like that. very attentive, goody but still holding some misbehavior, outside of all of this. he is still a mystery to you.
he’s just your thesis partner, nothing more, nothing less.
as the door clicks, you steal one last glance to sasha as she parts ways, yelling her goodbyes instead of properly stating them.
“ she’s blooming today. “ are the first words that leave eren’s mouth.
he looks presentable like always. white , sterile lad coat on that stops at his sheens. tan khakis with black socks and an untucked white short sleeve adorn his upper and lower body.
his hair is styled in that man bun, but as he let up to you one day, he wanted to cut his hair shorter but wimped out at the last moment.
now, some of his ‘baby’ hairs frame his forehead. there couldn't have been a better choice.
“ i heard her and niccolo hit it off pretty well the other day. “ you comment, watching him drop his black thermos flask on the spare counter by the door and push his ray bans farther up his nose.
the logo blurs from your vision as you sit on the high stool chair, turning to give the screen your attention.
better to be safe than sorry.
eren starts to get busy once he settles into the room.
he opens his plain black book bag and pulls out a journal. it’s navy blue and has the popular book-brand logo on the front. it’s basic.
there’s colored sticky tags and book notes hanging off the sides of the paper inside. there’s so many you were sure if you tried to count, you would fail.
he lays the journal on the long counter that harvests the bio heater and computer.
“ have you gone over the assignment? “ eren lets out a soft ‘mhm’ that sounds like a purr.
“ stayed up all night making sure i understood it.” he replies formally after dipping his hands into the steel sink across the room.
your eyes dash from the screen to his covered upper back.
“ look at you being on top of your stuff. “ you joked playfully, he turns his head, his ember-like eyes boring into you like a threat, although they hold the same playfulness yours have.
he smirks. “ when have i ever not been? “
“ let me think… “ you come up empty handed, of course.
eren was always on top of his stuff. he might be a few minutes late, tops, but he was always there when it counted. you would never downplay his skills when it came to making his presence count.
“ oh, is that silence i hear? “ it’s rare you get any form of normal conversation with him, so you push until he’s drying his hands with a paper towel and slipping those black, high reactive gloves on.
you figured it was time to get to business, unfortunately.
you stand up, brushing past him gently to make it to the sink. your hands fall into the rim, the warm water pouring on your palms and fingers.
the unscented soap always made you feel a little woozy, it just smelled like alcohol but it's accustomed to just get it over with.
once you felt you’d run the water and soap on your hands long enough, you pulled them out and dried them.
turning to pay mind to everything else now that the easy part was over, you caught eren’s eyes being glued to the computer screen, headphones over his head.
“ which position do you want to take? “
he glances up then swipes one of the headphones off his ear. “ i'm sorry? “ he was always so polite, proper but sometimes it would slip. you liked when that happened.
“ i asked what position do you want to take. “
“ either or, whatever you feel comfortable with. “ he gives you a brief smile, you return it and pull the gloves onto your dried hands.
the black snaps against your skin, snug and comfortable and you rubbed them together to make sure they would hold.
“ i’ll do the first part and you do the second. “ eren, who didn't put the other headphone back in bobbed his head up and down then he got up from the seat and gave you the lay way.
components a, b and c were already sitting on the white table top, in one of the smaller bio heaters before you’d even arrived.
hange was always looking out for you.
with the ingredients resting in your face, you started the small heater for the five lb flask.
eren goes to grab the flask, it's not the biggest thing but it's enough to hold the small amount of liquid hange requested to have mixed.
the flask gets hot around the edges before long. you and eren share a look of hesitation. “ yolo? “ you weren't sure if that was supposed to be the way to think about this, but you still kept that mindset.
if you think too hard, mistakes can be made.
“ yolo. “ he replied.
grabbing the warm bio-tube from the heater, the blue cap labeled a sits in your left hand while the red cap labeled b sits in your other.
turning to eren fully, he glances at the caps and then at your face, your eyes to be exact.
he twists the caps off without looking down, jungling them in his hands.
it’s been a while since a guy looked at you so sensually and it's all because of some lids. you're overthinking it, surely. still, like a ditz, your heart starts to speed up.
“ thank you. “ you say, it comes out as a whisper.
he doesn't verbally reply. he grunts as confirmation and clears his throat, taking a step back. gosh, he sure knew how to make you so vulnerable and nervous.
he has these eyes that scream of avoidance but sometimes he seemed so readable.
but again, surely it was something inside of your head and eren, your somewhat nerdy but secretive thesis partner wasn't staring at you with some kind of want.
the pot, now heated and ready, awaited your move. you turned the tubes in your hands steadily then gave eren the count down.
“ three, two, one- “ you poured both of the tubes inside of the flask and they mixed immediately. going from clear to a smokey purple before they could even stand a chance.
you shot eren a glance and he flashed the black rectangular timer.
the clock is officially running down.
eren places it directly beside the heating flask and you both just watch it go down in silence until he speaks, surprisingly.
“ how has your day been? “ considering it's eleven at night and this has been lingering on your mind for hours, not the best.
“ alright to say the least. “ you motion towards the flask. “ this has been the most important thing to me. “ eren stuffs his gloved hands into his lab coats pockets, eyes never leaving that timer.
“ how about you? “ you aren't afraid to look away, you have more than enough time.
analyzing him for all his worth while he can’t refuse it, you understood the hype.
his black glasses hover on the tip of his button nose while he towers over the heater. they keep sliding further and further down and it only adds to the appeal that is eren yeager.
“ decent, like you said this is the most important thing right now. “ with that, you both fell back into silence. not awkward, but not ideal.
you keep your eyes on that timer until the two minute mark hits then you both start to whine down.
eren shifts first, he untucks his hands and walks towards the computer, grabbing that blue journal. then, he slyly whispers. “ excuse me. “ by the top of your head, his hands ghosting on your hip to pass by while he goes for the bio heater.
you could feel the goosebumps gather but for what, he was only being polite, surely!
you watch him work, only staying out of his way as he writes something quickly inside of the book then like before, watch the timer go down further.
it seemed like it anticipated this moment as well, once they both kick started, it went down faster.
by the time it hits thirty seconds and you start to toy with any and everything. it feels realer than anything to ever be real.
this was it. this was going to determine whether or not you passed and its nerve wrecking, keeping you in a dilemma of failures mind set.
the tension of sharp green lit eyes on your face causes you to shuffle on your toes.
“ hey, it’s going to work. “ the encouragement falls off of eren’s tongue like nothing, like he’d already decided it would work because he’s doing it and it’s enough for you to actually breathe a bit steadier.
you trust him.
the timer starts to slow ever so slightly when the last seconds come around.
it’s five seconds on the clock, eren already uncapped the last clear solution and he’s waiting, patiently, not a shake in sight.
when it dings, or more so rings loudly to alert everyone it is time to fulfill their duties. eren didn't hesitate. he poured the liquid into the flask and it rumbled, turning from purple to a neon green in milliseconds.
you don't breathe, your breath caught in your throat. eren watches it, unnerved or as it seems from his backside.
you make the first move after, going to the computer, logging in quickly and watching your digital notes appear.
“ okay, we uh. “ you started, scrolling down on the mouse wheel. “ we poured them both in, the color changed to- “
eren lifts his head up.
“ purple. “ he finishes, his voice a grumble. you nod your head, scrolling further down through the notes.
“ then we waited and the color is supposed to… “ wait, this couldn't be right. you glimpse from your written notes to your digital ones.
your eye brows pinch on your forehead, adding a bundle of nerves into the crease that separates them. “ eren. “
eren leans off of the table, eyes glancing from the solution to the computer you’re frantically typing on.
“ what’s wrong? “ he asks with concern oozing from his mouth, you can hear his sneakers squeak on the floor as he hurries to your side.
he leans over you, right hand on the corner of the white table, towering ever so slightly to read the news.
“ it’s supposed to be… black? “ his eyes grow wider by the discovery, then his head turns to the boiling green concoction behind them.
“ that can't be right. we did it right. “ he says confidently, his hands grow eager to be on the computer’s keyboard, so eager that he slides you out of the way, again with his slender fingers and begins to type on it.
you're standing there, puzzled, what could have gone wrong?
eren was so collected about it. he did it right, you were sure. you started to doubt yourself, was this your fault?
you thought back to the way the solutions mixed, maybe they didn’t touch at the same time –
how is this possible right now?
before you both could deescalate the situation, the flask boils over with white bubbles forming from the bottom to the top.
the heater is making a strange abort sound. eren takes one look and abandons the computer, working on complete autopilot.
“ shit, okay lets just restart. i’ll handle this, go get the new tubes. “ he utters, his voice slightly shaky as the liquid only continues to boil over even with the stove top off.
you rush, no you're beyond rushing.
you run to the capsules in the storage fridges.
the realization of it all keeps you on your toes, barely realizing how horrible this is. how this can cost you your entire life.
metaphorically and physically.
you reach the correct fridge, the one in the far right corner.
opening the door to release the air gas, it hits you in your face and you cough only a bit. there’s many names, many colors but the colors you need just… aren't there.
the blue and reds are practically obliterated.
your heart stops. no way was that the only batch, hange made sure to say they could start over.
this can't be right, surely, this was a simple mistake of misplacement.
or… the tubes just aren't here.
crash – something loud hits the floor and shatters before anything can register.
you jet your eyes behind yourself and watch the absolute look of terror on eren’s face expand, his hands still in position as if he was holding something.
that something just so happened to be the flask filled with the wrong components. it’s spilled all over the floor, the green liquid smoking, steam floating up into the air and the vents.
you and eren just stay like that, in one place.
the glass doesn't move, it only reflects. it watches the disappointment on both of your faces.
the haunt.
it’s honestly astonishing that something could go from bad to worse in less than five minutes.
“ this is on me. i’ll clean this up, just get the tubes- “ eren says, hands falling out of their position. his lids are downcasted towards the glass.
“ the tubes aren't here eren. “ you softly remind him, your hands shaking as they lower.
this was it, they failed. all because of a second – actually, you weren't even sure if the time was the issue.
all because of nothing.
eren moves before you do, before you want to. it doesn't sink in until he’s grabbing a broom and dust pan from the storage closet and walking back to the site.
“ what the hell… “ you heard him say.
“ what? “ you shallowly walk towards him, the smell of debris air still trapped on your skin.
“ it's gone. “ he said in disbelief, his hands tightening on the broom. as you get closer, your confusion branches into awareness.
he’s right. the glass is still there, in small pieces but the green liquid is gone.
how did it evaporate before your eyes?
you look at him and he’s quick to do the same. “ the glass. just clean the glass. i’ll see if there's another remedy for the tubes. “ you find yourself saying. it was odd seeing eren so confused. it honestly spooked you.
although, this is the worst thing to happen. you try to make some good out of it. you were sure out of the many capsules in those fridges, there were some similarities to the first tubes.
there had to be. it's all connected.
you stepped over the glass carefully, walking to the computer. this time, you logged in under hange’s tab. they never kept a password on their account, surprisingly.
you watched as all the transcripts unlocked and you searched for the number twelve.
the heater is still making a clinking, alert sound, even with it being off and you try to tune it out, searching until the number twelve is sitting in your face.
you read it over, many times, watching the words hydroparotic and oxygen no-mad make the first capsule and how the second one, b, isn't hard to make either.
the sound of broken glass being swept up and thrown into the trash can makes you keen to eren. he still looks stuck in his head and you're sure you don't look any different.
you jump up, quickly, going back to the opened fridge to search for six capsules.
the colors are easily detectable. pink, tan, green, a lighter green, orange and black. all labeled with hyphenated names.
you bundle them into your arms and lay them on the long table with the computer.
your brain seized in on itself as it remembered the order.
you grabbed a clear bowl, making sure not to drop it and also put it on the table top.
hydro - the second no-mad… okay, then…
you mixed them together creating the first tube. it’s about two ounces of liquid, just enough to work.
the other is a little under three. you weigh them in together and figure it's best to even them out.
that took the longest, you concentrated on that and that only. almost forgetting eren was in the room until he exited from the storage closet, again with a new five pound flask.
it's the same clear color, with the written measurements, just like the one before.
when you were finished, you used the old tubes to keep the liquids secured and placed them inside of the bio heater.
another time limit falling onto you both.
this time, you both were quiet, not engaging in any conversation.
it wasn't voluntary, you just refused to mess up again. you couldn’t afford to remake all of this stuff and there was no more hydropartic to offer in that fridge.
this was your last chance.
when the bio heater finished after two minutes, it was still hot.
you pulled the tubes out and sighed in relief. – but that sigh felt weird… clammy.
maybe you were just dreaming but it almost looked like a layer of vapor came out of your mouth, you brushed it off.
it was probably the steam from the tubes.
with the blue cap labeled a in your left hand and the red in the other. you glanced at the heater and fogged-up rim of heat coming off of the flask.
without warning, eren undid the lids of the tubes, eyes hanging dangerously low. a red ring forming at the bottom of his lash line.
you barely noticed because of his glasses.
your breath hitched. “ thank you… “ it comes out so low, it sounds like a squeaky whisper.
eren, takes a step back, groans with approval and watches you intently. you could feel his eyes on your back, waiting, lurking.
“ yolo. “ he said.
you held them up, making sure they had the same amount of liquid then you poured them in. they slouched together, falling as one and being greeted with familiarity.
the color shifts from clear to a solid purple, resting at the bottom of the flask.
you turned your head, giving eren a look which he replied with the black timer. the clock ticking down from five minutes. five minutes down, no more to go.
the clock ticks soundlessly beside the heater, they stare at it and it just watches them.
you both don't speak at first, but when you do, or when eren does, you get hit with a simple stain of deja vu.
“ how has your day been? “ your head tilts, eyes cloudy as you try to think on those words.
you could've sworn you’d heard them before, of course you had, but it felt like you’d heard him say that recently.
it was most likely from yesterday.
“ alright to say the least. “ you point at the flask, eyes unwavering from the timer. “ this has been the most important thing to me. “
eren lets out an awkward laugh. “ okay, so either i imagined asking you something like that and that was your same reply, or i am genuinely going crazy. “
for once, your eyes leave the timer and you chuckle suddenly.
“ i was… thinking the same thing. “ you both let out half breathy laughs.
it feels like your bones are vibrating by the time you’re done laughing and stealing glances from behind eren’s glasses.
his eyes were a deeper red, he looked like he’d just smoked many ounces of marijuana. wait, was he high? are you high right now? because you surely feel like it.
you’re loopy, feeling somewhat wobbly on the tiles. your hands are jittering, moving on their own.
“ um, are you feeling okay? “ eren’s movements start to get sporadic, his hands are twitching behind his gloves, his lips turned up into a grin. ” cause i think i’m feeling something. “
you were both easily experiencing the same thing. shortness in breath, boarder-line paranoiac symptoms, a sudden burst of energy,
“ is it like a rush? “ you ask, unable to hide your laughs anymore.
the timer goes completely out of the window, everything that matters is staring back at you, judgement seemingly gone.
“ ye-ah, yeah! god, i haven't felt this since i lost my- um. “ you covered your mouth, nose scrunched and beyond the point of return.
the floor becoming unstable, the room only becoming a prop.
“ anyways, you alright? “ he follows up saying, fingers rubbing down his clean shaven chin.
then, for some reason, he ends up looking at his fingers and starts to laugh even more. “ my fingers look weird. do you see them? “
he shoves them in your face and you only see the gloves, the black latex gloves that are slowly turning into different neon colors.
your eyes go big, literally. your pupils are large and round and eren can't seem to take his own dingy eyes off of you.
you find it hard to speak, mouth going dry, maybe it was because you could feel him blanding into you, seeing inside of your soul.
or maybe it was because it hadn’t reached your brain that these sudden feelings could have something to do with hange’s odd after effects warning.
“ you look- ha, pretty. wow you’re really pretty. “ he stumbles over his words, fingers retracting from your view. “ you come around here often? “
he looks nervous, fringy, shy like a teenager. you pout unknowingly, head cocked just enough to flash him that giddy smirk.
“ are you flirting with me eren yeager? “ his eyes are the ones going big this time.
“ i-i dont know whats going on with me. “ he takes the gloves off his hands, that man bun coming loose, his hair framing over his glasses, sticking to his forehead.
he looks better than the word handsome.
“ i'm guessing it has something to do with our liter- literal? little- “ you laugh harder, licking your lips as he grows flushed and red by his mistakes.
“ our little laboratory mishap, but at this point i really… dont want to care anymore. “ he finishes, taking a deep breath.
you nod like a lovesick puppy, back leaning against the free side of the table. just staring, just trying to work around this overcoming feeling of fatigue, confusion and lust.
your stares make eren even more nervous than he already is.
he prods at the back of his head and clears his throat roughly.
“ i'm feeling something, are you feeling something? “ he repeats. hopping only slightly on the ground, pacing on the white tiles.
his hands swinging at his sides, unable to contain the mass amount of taintable things going on in his head.
“ i'm definitely feeling something. “ you said slyly, hands resting on the rim of the long cool table. eren’s eyes go even lower, even darker with something other than red.
he stops directly in front of you, mere feet away from your body. his eyes start from your covered thick thighs, sweeping over your matching tan khakis. then they follow up your curved hips and dips, to your chest.
his eyes linger there until they lift to your face, your dolled up face he can't seem to escape even in his dreams.
“ yeah? i’m feeling you to be honest. “ you laugh heartily, watching his shyness become overwhelmed by need.
you lick your lip, once more and they dry instantly. “ what’s good girl, how you doing? “ his fingers just barely touch your lab coat before he pulls away, eyes going hazily wide again.
“ shit, shit. oh my-. “ he relapses, hands guard at his waist, restraining himself from touching you further.
“ i'm sorry, i'm really sorry. i'm really trying to stay professional but you just look so beautiful. “ he rushes out, voice lowering.
you reach out , hands just barely ghosting over his own coat. he watches, intently.
“ and sexy, fuckkk. you look so good. “ he winces, hands rattling as they try to inch closer and closer to your clothed form.
it’s evident he’s holding himself back, even while you flash him a look of greed and acceptance. that’s just the man he is, the man he was raised to be.
but you’re the only thing that can help the strain in his pants, the only thing he wants to help it. he needs you, it’s plastered all over his flushed features.
“ please let me touch you. “ he whispers lowly, a look of pure want in his eyes.
the almost silent beeping from the clock and the tapping of the flask still heating seems to echo inside of your brain. a reminder. still, even with distractions everywhere, you were sure this was the only thing you needed.
“ touch me. “
its like you pulled a trigger, you gave him the word and he pounced. his hands found shelter on your hips, pulling tight enough branch your shirt and squish your skin all in one.
he brings you into a nasty kiss, eyes shut tightly. you felt like your mouth was going dry seconds ago but his was wet. sloppy, spit already trying to leak from the corner of your mouth.
it’s humiliating how many sounds he is coaxing out of you and his tongue hasn't even entered your mouth, yet.
you're touching everywhere, his chest, riding underneath his shirt to feel the glory of him. hands scratching at his coursed abs.
you feel all the way up coursed back, the muscles, the veins. it draws something raw from your throat and he actually shudders from it, goosebumps forming on his tan flesh.
he pulls you closer, chest to chest and his hands roam as well. it's quick, hasty with the intent to make you feel good. his hands fall onto your ass, prodding underneath to squeeze and tug.
you moan inside of his mouth and he drinks it up, sliding his tongue in without a hassle.
you shift, back grinding into the table. it almost feels good.
you have this thought while eren is tonguing the inside of your mouth down, the way he angles it, the way he moves it makes you think he had to eat pussy like a pro.
he just has too and he proves it, no he shows you without you having to ask.
he lifts you up, like it's nothing and sits you on the table top.
the cold of it slipping through your pants. he stays there, looking down at you even with the added height, all doe like and starry, as if he’s not running on two thoughts and a mind of imagination.
“ can i eat your pussy baby? “ so out of it but still polite, he was a tale.
you clench around nothing. yeah, you forgot how to speak entirely.
your hands card into his hair and you nod for all its worth. he’s fast, unbuttoning your pants, freeing the cage around your chubby tummy.
he keeps his eyes lowered, watching everything carefully; although he looks like he isn't even here anymore. his eyes are only getting redder.
you laid back slowly, gasping as he worked the pants further and further down your ass.
you lift your bottom and they slide down your legs onto the floor.
this had to be the moment you knew eren was truly doing it because he loved it, because he craved you, because he had to feel it.
he didn't even fist your panties off with your khakis, his face dove right in between your thighs, breathing in your scent.
he moans and you try to shy away, hands in his hair. “ nonono, let me stay please. “ he begs, candid eyes glaring up at you, low, passively.
you could cum right then and there, from this sight alone.
his hair out of place, disheveled but still so put together. his cheekbones flared and clenched, his lashes, behind those rapidly fogging glasses long and lengthy.
he was perfect, perfectly beautiful enough to undermine how embarrassing this was.
you bite your lip, head flinging back. he took his chance, licking up and down your covered slit.
you whine just from that, legs spreading wider. he forces you to the edge of the table then gets on his knees quickly. still holding that insane eye contact that nearly brings you to the edge.
then his tongue is back on your soaked underwear, laying his tongue flat on your slit and applying pressure,, eyes daring to shut.
you watch him grow weak between your legs. glasses completely fogged, hands falling from your hips to your inner thighs. pacing, wanting to feel every inch of you.
it's ridiculous how wet you are, how in tuned with lust he has you.
when he lets up, growing tired of the fabric in the way of your cunt. he pulls it to the side, eyes glancing from your pretty pussy to your even prettier eyes.
you squirm.
“ stay. “ he demands.
you can feel the tears already pucker up in the corner of your eyes when he only presses his beaten lips to your clit.
it’s slow, deliberate. he’s tasting you like candy, licking from your entrance to your puffy, swollen clit like a lollipop. he moans into your cunt, vibration only egging you on further.
you gasp, all whiny and high. your body felt on fire and sensitive to anything. you could tell you were being extremely loud but you couldn't care, not right now at least.
everything felt like a discarded dream.
his tongue lapping on your cunt, the way your hands card into his brown locs and pull on the roots when he licks just right. the sounds you are both making when he pushes his head down deeper is ethereal, almost dreamy.
he does this thing where he sticks his tongue inside of you and curls it all the way up, poking things you’d never thought existed.
“ fuckkkk eren, just like that. “
he slaps your thigh.
“ say it again. “ he muttered deeply, his pink tongue bulging in and out of your entrance, practically forcing your arousal and his spit to gather on the table.
“ you’re doing so go-od! ‘making me feel so good. “ eren sucks on your clit, whining the whole time he's pulling his head back and latching off with a ‘pop’ sound.
“ i have to fuck you, can i fuck you? “ his tone is so whiny, desperate.
“ stop asking and do it. “
he wastes no time.
he stands up, tall and broadly and unbuttons his pants. his print is achingly big, showing behind layers of clothing. your thighs instantly close in on themselves, finding some relief.
he doesn't hesitate to look for protection or to wonder if this was wrong. he can’t think about anything bad when you're staring up at him like that. low lite and feeble, begging him to take you with those sultry eyes.
when he catches your lenses dropping to his pelvis, he gives you a run for your money, dropping his black, labeled boxers.
your lids turn upwards and your mouth goes dry, again... “ think it’ll fit? “ he asks lowly, voice tangible and lust filled.
his dick is far more than big. it's huge, pinky toned and long, feathered with pre-cum. you feel yourself tense and your stomach churn, how in a million years did he think that was going to fit?
“ don’t know, don't think so. “ you say.
he pulls you even closer to the ledge, mouth contorted into a smirk. you yelp. “ it’s okay baby, we’ll make it fit, yeah? “
eren couldn't have gone his whole life without seeing you like this. all perky and high, nose in the air as you shift and watch him fist his dick.
for someone so unsure of it fitting, you looked like you were starving for it and who was he to keep you hungry?
his hands do that thing where they twitch while he lining himself up, glancing to make sure you're still there and feeling him.
you smile, almost showing your teeth.
he doesn't need anything else. he pushes in slowly, round mushroom tip proding inside of you, looking to take all you have.
your back arches and you shudder, overcome with the aftershock of being practically split open.
you were right, he wasn't going to fit, but in the same sense, he was right as well.
you were going to take his dick regardless.
eren’s trying his hardest to keep it together, to push you over your limits instead of his, but he’s muttering nothings underneath his breath, words caught in his throat the farther he pushes.
“ sososo good, so perfect. “ the stretch of him has you moaning even wilder, shaking, eyes rolling just from a few inches.
you’re so tight, clinging onto him like you won't ever let him go and he's losingggg it, completely going dumb by your pussy. –
and when he bottoms out, you both share a gaspy moan. all serotonin and in the air, unaware of anything other than each other.
eren looks hopeless, like the only thing that matters is being inside of you and now that he is, he’s ready to lay it all on the table, literally.
he moves, dragging back just a few inches and pushes back in.
you let out a whine, hands try to find anything to touch, to hold onto. it’s like you knew soft and gentle wasn't going to be in the picture today.
when your hands do find something, it's warm and humming. it's the bio- heater, warming up the last component.
it’s like a spark of some reasonableness is staring you dead in the face and through moans you say. —
“ eren- ‘rennn, the flask. “
eren’s eyes aren't even on you, there’s too much to focus on. your curves, your glistening caramel skin. the way your body is completely submitting underneath him.
“ d’worry about it. “ he pulls your hips down onto his dick, biting hard on his bottom lip.
“ h-have too! “ you rawly say,, trying to take everything eren gives while also reaching for the tubes. mind alternating from which one is more important.
they are both top priorities unfortunately.
eren, against his better judgement, stops moving and focuses on you and how you're practically dragging him down towards the timer and heater.
he groans with disapproval, reaching for the devices with ease due to his height.
as if on cue, the timer goes off when eren unscrews the lid to the last agent and he pours it in. you were sure he would've done it regardless of it being on time.
when the room should've gone quiet to await the results, it doesn't happen.
instead, eren pulls completely out and slams back in, you scream, eyes rolling to kiss your skull.
you barely catch how the liquid turns jet black and how easily dismissable eren is about it. his pace is rough, but there’s still care in the way he’s palming up your body, landing on your shirt.
he squeezes your breast, hips meshing onto yours like putty. the sound of skin clapping is overwhelming, instead of the smell of chemicals, it smells like sex in each and every corner of this room.
the way his tip is kissing your bruised cervix is lethal, he’s so deep, — he’s dragging broken cries out of your throat.
your hands hold onto the rim of the table, knocking your own journal off onto the floor.
“ so tight, feels so good. “ he praises, head thrown towards the sky as he only speeds up. “ always wanted me huh? “
“ yesssss, “ you agree soundly, out of it, completely immersed in the way he’s handling your body and how easily it wills itself to him.
his pace sets a new tone of deep and fast, it’s not as fast as before but it’s definitely steady.
his dick drags inside of you, so tenderly you almost say you love him. he leans down, smirking as he connects your lips together.
the kiss however, is the most gentlest thing you’ve experienced this whole time.
it's soft, pouty, all tender and gushy. you wrap your legs around his lower back and sigh into his mouth. “ thank you. “ you mumble and you don’t have to look at his puffy, bitten lips to know he’s appreciative.
“ always. “ he pulls away, pushing inside of your juicy cunt until she's talking to him sweetly.
he takes his glasses off, putting them to the side.
his head rests in between your neck, you can feel every breath, every moan he takes and makes. it’s the perfect spot, well other than your mouth.
he pulls all the way out, again. tip barely inside before he slams in, hand crushing on your side.
this feels different, more like a coming down than anything. you lace your arms around his neck and whisper in his ear.
“ faster. “ he moans from your voice, thats how deep in he is.
pulling back again, he thrust in deeply, touching that spot inside of you that makes your leg shaky and falter.
he gives you exactly what you wanted, he goes fast, hard, hands finding new places to rest each thrust.
he’s enjoying being in your neck, sucking, flicking and leaving marks to remember this whole ordeal by.
he rocks his hips in a rhythm that builds up that ball in your gut, it’s forming by the time he's saying. “ m’gonna cum soon. “ and maybe, that speeds up your process.
for once, his hands find a place to rest, on your sides, like an obsession.
he’s possessive with his strokes now, working towards a bigger goal, working towards fucking his seed into you and he’s begging for it, paying for it in full price with his hefty thrusts.
“ eren! oh- i'm going to–!! “ you don't even finish your sentence but you definitely finished.
your body twitches, dragging on the table as you jerk and go soundless, mouth parted in an o shape the entire time you're cumming and far from coming down.
eren’s groans turn into pitched moans like a wildfire, his body gets hotter as his weight fully presses onto you. his lab coat brushing onto your flesh, and your own.
he keeps you from moving, from taking away his orgasm. when it hits, it's different, far from anything he’s ever felt.
it feels like a high drop from a rollercoaster. his head gets light, his face scrunches up and he bites down hard on your shoulder to keep himself from passing out from your pussy.
you both don't come back down from it all until several minutes have passed and that timer – you both somehow tuned out is blaring.
eren lifts up slowly, asking if you're okay immediately. you still feel that high in the cloud feeling so you nod leisurely.
fortunately, eren grew a conscience and remembered the flask after neglecting it.
he cursed underneath his breath, still inside of you throbbing but, then he grows extremely confused and dazed when the color was perfectly black.
synopsis // smoking with your hot higher up, eren jaeger
pairings // eren jaeger x fem! reader
cw // university au • public sex • weed usage • sex under the influence • praise • cunnilingus • spitting • age gap (?)
W/C // 2.2K
your head lays on top of eren’s lap, admiring him while he takes a long drag from the blunt. his eyes are closed, the moonlight shading his eyelashes against his face so prettily.
eren holds his breath for a a few more seconds before exhaling. he finally opens his eyes, sparkling emeralds looking down at you, already watching him. a breathy laugh falls from his lips before he passes it back to you.
it was around eleven pm, it’s just you two in the backseat of his car, parked a couple blocks away from the university.
every once in awhile you two meet up and have a smoke sesh, just to relieve some stress—smoke buddies, if you will. you have to admit, you always look forward to the time you spend with him, after all of these meet ups, you couldn’t even deny the crush that formed.
he was the hot cool senior that you’ve been crushing on for literal months. ever since the first time you seen him at that back to school party, you’ve made it your mission to get your hands on eren jaeger. and all your hard work paid off after all—look at where you were now.
you grab the blunt from his long fingers and place it in between your lips before inhaling deeply. "you're getting better at this" he compliments, eyes carefully watching your glossed lips wrap around the blunt. you can’t lie, when you two first started this little arrangement, your smoking skills were definitely at the amateur level. "that's ‘cause i'm a fast learner" you took a couple puffs, doing different tricks that he taught you as you blow it out, passing it back to him.
"no i'm just a fucking awesome teacher" eren spoke confidently, taking a hit before handing it back to you. "no you suck at teaching" his brows furrowed a little.
"you suck"
"and swallow" you snickered.
eren raises an eyebrow "oh yeah?" he stares down at you, adjusting his hips slightly as he leans back into the seat. "yeah" you say softly as you chew at the inside of your cheek. he hums before motioning his fingers towards him.
"c'mon sweetheart it's puff, puff pass. not puff puff keep" you hand the blunt back to him, his fingers brushing against your own. eren smacks his lips. "where's the lighter?" he mutters, all the flirting made the blunt go out. you fish around in your pockets before pulling out a lighter: a white lighter with a playboy bunny symbol on the front of it.
you hand it to him and he just stares at it for a moment, lips spreading into a small smile. "cute,"
you roll your eyes, moving your head around in his lap a bit to get a in a more comfortable position. you don't miss how his breath hitches, but you choose not to say anything.
the car’s full of the foggy smoke, windows up and trapping everything inside, adding to your high as you relax to the low music playing. "it's almost done, make this last one count” the grumble vibrating from his chest. eren puts the lit blunt in between your lips for you as you inhale deeply.
you watch how he leans his head back on the headrest, a stupid idea popping into your head. you bring your body closer to him, gently grabbing his face and parting his mouth slightly. eren stays still, his red, lidded eyes meeting yours and watching as you exhale the smoke into his mouth, your lips shocking each other’s as they brush together.
he closes his mouth before exhaling through his nose. maybe it was the good weed that has your head all light and foggy, or maybe it was because of how good his black shirt looks stretching across his chest, the hard planes of his body still showing through the fabric.
you’re caught off guard when he suddenly flips your bodies. your back lies flat against the car seat with him settled in between your legs, his face is so close to yours, you can feel his breath fanning against your cheeks.
"what are you doing?" you choke out, heart starting to beat faster when his eyes looked over your face, stopping at your lips for a moment before looking back at you.
"do you want me to stop?" you wanted to clench your thighs from his raspy voice, but you simply shake your head ‘no’, swallowing thickly as he moves closer, smashing his lips against your own.
the kiss starts off slow, both of you slowly leaning into it—testing boundaries, tasting each other, his soft lips gently moves against yours while his hands slowly trail up and down along your sides.
you love how his hands feel on your body. you release out a small moan into the kiss while your arms wrapped around his next, pulling his body closer to yours.
he finally pulls away, lifting his body up slightly as he pulls your shirt off, followed by your stretch pants, eyes widening when he sees your lack of underwear, your pussy already soaking and ready for him. eren grins and looks up at you through his dark lashes. "i see you planned ahead" you narrow your eyes at him.
“i was rushing, don't flatter yourself" he shrugged his shoulders, lowering his head in between your thighs "whatever you say sweetheart" you gasped when you felt his tongue press flatly against your clit, your hand immediately reaching to the headrest next to you.
eren doesn't waste any time when it comes to eating you. his fingers tightly grip your thighs as he runs his tongue up and down your pussy, swirling and sucking on your aching clit as he watches you throw your head back against the fogged window, squeezing your eyes shut with a hand clamped over your mouth. your fingers finding their place in his neat man bun.
he lifts his head up and stares at your pussy. now glistening from a mixture of his spit and your juices. his intense attention feels like a physical touch alone. eren’s eyes find you again and he grabs your wrist, not enough to hurt, but firmly. you open your eyes, breaths rushed out and uneven. eren leans in closer, “watch me eat you baby, okay? i need you to keep those pretty eyes on me” he whispers.
eren puckers his lips and lets a glob of spit fall on your clit, watching intently as it slides down to your hole before licking it all up all the way back to your clit, slurping and shaking his face in your slick.
"oh my god ‘ren—" a high pitch moan falls from your lips and your body shivers from his tongue—licking and sucking on your clit as if he was drinking soup.
your muscles start to tense up, eyebrows furrowing together as you felt your orgasm creeping up. "i'm gonna—" you trail off, breathing heavily as you bite back another moan. "’m gonna cum, baby"
"cum on my tongue sweetheart" he mumbles against your slick folds, swirling his tongue around your hole before sticking the muscle in, really pushing you over the edge. your vision blur as you release all over his tongue.
eren gaze stays locked on you, continuing his motions until you’re finished. eren breaks his mouth away from your pussy, leans up and snatches his shirt off while pulling down his jogging pants, his tattoos a stark contrast against his pale body in the dark light.
eren easily maneuvers your body and sits you on top of his lap. you place your knees on either side of his waist and sit your hands on his broad and hard shoulders. he unclips your bra, throwing it somewhere else in the car.
his mouth wastes no time before latching onto your hard nipple, making you arch deeper against him as you whimper, hands finding his hair again.
his slender fingers lightly worked up and down his leaking dick, he slides a finger across the bead of pre-cum, hissing quietly before his green eyes found their way to yours. “you ready pretty?”
"let me put it in" you say, his cock twitched when you wrapped your fingers around it, a small noise leaving eren’s mouth. you lift your hips and guide his tip to your soaked entrance, slowly sinking down on it, both of you letting out a deep sigh when you finally sheathed yourself completely on him.
you grind your hips back and forth slowly, gummy walls coating and sucking every inch of him inside. you brush your lips against his, clit brushing against his happy trail with every motion. eren grunts, "go faster baby, don’t tease me" he breaths out. you lift yourself up before slamming back down, another moan leaving your mouth and another grunt of pleasure pulled from him.
you start to bounce faster, your arms moving from his hair to wrapping around his neck for support while his fingers dig into the plush of your waist. "fuck me—“ eren grits out. “you’re so good at this, baby just like that, keep riding this dick" his words only encourage you. the car fills with sounds of grunts and moans along with wet sounds of skin clapping together.
honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was shaking too. not that you care.
the burning ache in your knees became unbearable. you slowly drag your hips against him again, setting the pace back to something agonizingly slow—too slow for eren. he wraps both arms around your waist before lifting your body up and pulling you back down on his dick, the sudden stretch almost burning as he split you open.
“eren wait—ah!—s-slow down," you could barely talk. your mouth parted slightly with your head nuzzling into the crook of his neck, letting him use you.
"what's that baby?” his warm breath fanned your ears before he licked them ever so lightly. “gonna go a lil faster pretty” his words were choked and ragged. “you can take it baby, you can take it for me, i know you can"
he picked his pace up again, pushing his hips up off the seat to meet yours with every merciless thrust he gave you. "fuck, fuck, fuck!" you shrieked as your eyes screwed shut from him repeatedly slamming your g-spot. "give it all to me pretty—fuck, want you to cum all over this dick" he urged.
you harshly bit down on your lip. a couple more of his harsh thrusts and your vision had went white, body shaking while you came again, nails digging into his skin as he kept pounding at your g-spot. "yeah baby, good fucking girl—shit" he cursed, feeling you clenching harder around his throbbing length.
eren was chasing his own high now, biting down on your neck to keep from letting out his loud groans. you turned your head towards his ear, softly whispering against the shell of his ear as you clenched down on him.
you kissed the sensitive skin under his ear. "don’t pull out eren,” you licked it. “i want you to cum in me"
something snapped in him. eren’s fingers dug into your jaw and forced your face to his. "you want me to cum in you? pretty girl wants my cum huh?" your hands tangle in his now loose man bun, the loose strands catching in your fingers and you nod frantically, pupils blown wide with lust. "you do? well, fucking take it" he kept his tight grip on your jaw, watching the different faces of pleasure you made while he approached his own high.
one last powerful thrust and he released his cum inside of you, slowly moving his hips and riding out his high. you slumped your sweaty body over on his own, ragged and shallow breaths filling the car.
a knock on the window made you two jump before looking at each other. eren reached his hand up and wiped the fog from the windows, seeing jean outside with an awkward look covering his face. eren scrunched his face up and rolled down the window slightly, not enough that he could see your naked bodies.
"jean?! the hell are you doing out here?" he asked. jean scratched the back of his neck "well, i needed the homework but you weren't on your dorm and then i saw your car out here—but obviously you're busy" he squinted a bit as he peered through the foggy window. "is that—? i knew i recognized you!" your eyes widened and you cringed slightly. "hey, jean..."
"anywaysss, do you have it?"
"how long have you been out here?" eren asked him, feeling around for your clothes so you could cover up. "uh, shit, i don't know, maybe five minutes? you know fucking in public is a crime right?" his lack of a filter only added to your embarrassment. "oh god" you whispered to yourself.
"jean, go the fuck go away! i'll give it to you i get back" jean holds his up hands in surrender and he chuckles, he shoves his hands into his pockets and finally walks away from the car. "are you okay?" he asked while looked at you. "i'm fine. next time you probably shouldn't park so close to the university,"
"You can tell me if it starts to hurt okay?" yuuji lays you back on the futon and glides his hand down your thigh, adjusting his hips in between your legs.
His jacket is completely stripped off along with his boxers. slowly, he positions the tip of his dick over your little hole, he likes seeing it squeeze around nothing.
"Nervous?" he asks carefully, not exactly putting it in you yet. "you can tell me." yuuji's left hand is on your hip while he rubs the skin to ease your anxiety.
"N-no yuu, it's just.. you're kind of big." your eyes widen at his length in between your thighs, your mouth opens in surprise
Yuuji examines his own dick in hand and slid it down to pump his length a few times, " ‘s not that big c'mon." he huffs out a laugh, "Want me to fuck your thighs instead?" he asks amused and leaned down, completely covering your body with his larger one.
"Nooo.." you grab his shoulder, "just be gentle." he half smiles at the confirmation and pressed the tip past your hole.
You gasp at the sheer size of his cock entering you, large and girthy, it's almost comical.
"Y-yuuu.." a whine left your mouth when he pushed his hips further to bottom out. yuuji bites his lip at how tight you feel around him, it was like stopping blood circulation on a finger with a rubber band.
"Shit! b-baby.." yuuji hisses and lifts his hips before slamming into you again, and again and again.
His hands held your waist firm, seeing his cock disappear in and out of you was something he probably won't get tired of.
"Feel me? right here." he murmurs with heated eyes trained on you to catch your attention. An outline of his dick shape is molded above your pelvis, it was something yuuji really liked to see.
"Feels good !" your breaths are louder now, seems that you're cumming first, not that he minds it.
"Feels good." he repeats. Yuuji feels your cunt tighten around him, momentarily seizing his movement, "s...shitt" he chokes when you come all over his cock. Still inside, he continued to thrust.
"Fuck makes me wanna come in ya." he breathes, eyes hazy with pleasure, "so good, so warm..." he squeezes your hips to gain your attention.
You wrap your arms around his neck and hugged him while he continues to piston into you, his cock piercing into the deepest parts of your cervix.
"Y-yuuji.. pull out!" you felt him twitch and he seemed to go rigid, only for a second before popping his dick out of you and shot his load all over your thighs and stomach.
"...You alright?" he caresses your cheek softly with an thumb, removing stray hairs that stuck to your face.
You nod dazed and raised your head to meet his lips in a kiss. He accepted it quick, moving his mouth against yours skillfully, tongue touching yours, teeth nibbling your lower lip.
Pulling away, you press kisses to his face and scars, the one beside his mouth stood out the most, you licked it gently.
"You're sexy when you aren't always wearing that hoodie Yuu." you comment, both your hands dragging down his naked chest, you realize he's also half hard now. Uh oh.
Yuuji groans when he feels the blood rush to his dick at your words, why does this always happen?!
"Hah..You.. ‘m still hard." he whines and lowers his head into your shoulder, "Thighs?" he suggest softly, murmuring a "wanna feel ya."
"Armpits?" you suggest playfully but yuuji raises his head so fast to look at you, "Gross babe." he comments with a smirk, "Bet we can though, if you're really up for it."
You smile but said nothing, enjoying his confused smile but he rolls his eyes anyway and positions himself in front of you once more, "Thighs it is."
Note: tried to do angst... I think I failed. Horribly. This has been sitting around for a couple of days and I really feel like I am stuck. Would be very happy for a part 2
Some men just seemed to know, instinctively, how to handle softness.
They moved through it without awkwardness, without fear. For them, kindness was as natural as breathing: remembering a birthday, holding a door, reaching for your hand without having to think about it, showing up because they said they would. All the little things that made someone feel wanted without ever having to ask.
Toji had been taught the opposite.
Or maybe it was worse than that. Maybe no one had ever taught him at all.
Everything you knew about his life had arrived in fragments. He never sat down and handed you the story whole. It came in slips of conversation when he thought you were not paying attention, in the sudden silences after he said too much, in the blanks you learned to fill only after knowing him long enough.
You knew about the clan that had cast him out, about the kind of work that taught him to look at people as risk before anything else. He took jobs for money, for survival, for necessity, because surviving had always come easier to him than staying anywhere long enough to be loved.
And yes, there had been women too somewhere in all that chaos.
You never needed the details. You could see enough in him already. Desire sat easily on Toji in a way tenderness never had. To him, bodies were simple. They were direct.
It was not hard to imagine how he had learned that.
A man used for what he could do, what he could give, what he could kill, what he could endure.
A man who had spent too much of his life in borrowed rooms and temporary beds, being kept in the cheapest way possible: for muscle, for sex, for convenience, for the brief usefulness of him, all in exchange for a place to stay.
If intimacy had come to him mostly as barter, then of course he had grown into a man who trusted what was concrete. Things you could do. Things you could give. Things you could finish cleanly and walk away from. Tenderness was riskier. Tenderness left too much in someone else’s hands.
You had understood that instinct in him long before you ever found the words for it.
Perhaps that was why you had fallen for him. Not in spite of the roughness, but because you could see where it came from. Because beneath all that hardened instinct there was a man who wanted you more than he knew how to say, and who had never quite learned how to hold something gentle without bracing for the moment it would be taken from him.
You knew something about that too.
Not in the same way. Not with the same violence carved into it. Yours had been smaller, quieter, the kind of damage people dismissed because it did not leave obvious marks. It had just been a house that made ordinary wanting feel shameful. Ask twice, and you were clingy. Get hurt, and you were dramatic. Want attention, and suddenly you were selfish for needing it.
Sometimes you thought that was why he made sense to you at all.
That kind of upbringing gets into your bones. It teaches you to shrink before anyone can ask it of you. It teaches you to smooth yourself down into something easy, something undemanding, something grateful for whatever it gets. You learn to smile quickly, apologize first, tuck your wants away so neatly that no one ever has to trip over them.
Maybe that was why loving Toji had felt so natural, even in all the wrong places.
He was not good at the little things. You knew that. He did not always call when he vanished. He did not explain unless you asked him twice, and sometimes not even then. He moved through your life like a man who had never quite believed he was meant to belong anywhere for long.
But sometimes, when he was with you—really with you—there were moments that felt so real you could not help but build hope out of them.
The way he listened when you were sick. The way his hand found the small of your back when you crossed the street, absentminded and possessive and almost gentle. The way he looked at you sometimes, when he thought you were not paying attention, like wanting you was the one honest thing left in him.
Tiny things. Fragile things.
More than enough to keep a hopeful girl alive on very little.
--
The morning of your birthday, you woke before sunrise with the strange, breathless giddiness of someone who had been trying for weeks not to be excited.
For a few sleepy seconds, you simply lay there staring at the washed-out ceiling, mind slow to catch up. Then you pushed up on one elbow and looked properly.
The other side of the bed was cold.
It had been cold all night.
He had not come home.
Worry pricked through the warm anticipation already fluttering in your chest, small at first, easy enough to explain away.
He had done this before. Jobs dragged. Time got away from him. Sometimes he came back at strange hours smelling faintly of gunpowder or someone else’s cigarettes, looking as though he had not noticed the day pass at all.
You reached for your phone on the nightstand and checked the screen.
Nothing from him.
That should not have hurt as much as it did, but it did anyway. Your thumb hovered for a moment before you opened the thread and typed out a message.
Morning.
Is everything alright? You didn’t come home.
You stared at it, deleted the little heart you had almost added, and sent it. A second later, you sent another.
Don’t forget about tonight.
The message sat there looking painfully bare. Too revealing. Too close to what it really was: a woman trying, as gently as possible, to remind the man she loved that she wanted to matter to him today.
You nearly deleted it.
Your face warmed with the same embarrassed, girlish feeling that had been stalking you ever since the date started creeping closer on the calendar.
It was not as though you had expected anything grand. You had been taught out of that long ago.
One year, your family had forgotten your birthday entirely, then laughed when you went quiet over dinner. Another year, with open annoyance, someone had asked whether you really needed a whole evening to be “about you.” After that, you learned.
You learned to call a quick greeting enough. You learned not to reach too far toward anything that might make you look foolish.
And yet.
Months ago, when things with Toji had still been uncertain and sharp around the edges, you had mentioned the date by accident. He had been leaning against your kitchen counter, half-dressed, while you talked about how much you hated the fuss people made over birthdays.
He had looked at you once in that blunt, unreadable way of his and asked when yours was.
“It’s on the ___,” you had told him.
He had repeated it back in that same flat voice of his, as if setting down a fact.
Something small and ridiculous had stirred in your chest anyway. The fact that he had repeated it had felt like more than nothing. Like he had decided to keep it. Like, somehow, this one small thing about you had lodged somewhere in that hard, crowded head of his and stayed there.
So yesterday, after thinking about it for far too long, you had asked for something directly.
“Could you keep tomorrow night open for me?” you had said, trying for lightness and hearing the hope in your own voice anyway. “Nothing big... I just wanted us to have plans.”
It had felt obvious to you what you meant. What the plans meant.
He had not answered straight away.
Then, at last, he had said, “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
That was all.
But he had said it in that plain, certain way of his, and because he had said it like that, hope had slipped in where you had been trying not to leave room for it.
Maybe he had remembered before you even asked.
Maybe that unreadable face of his had been hiding something deliberate all along, a surprise. Maybe he had sounded casual, not because he did not care, but because he already had it handled.
It was stupid, maybe. But you could not help the flutter in your stomach.
At the same time, you had never truly expected him to arrange the evening himself.
Toji was not a man who made soft little plans, and money in his life had never been something comfortable or abundant, never something he spent on sentiment. If anything, part of you had wanted to spare him the awkwardness of it. It felt easier, kinder, to make it simple.
All he had to do was come.
So you made the reservation yourself, at a place nicer than you would normally dare, one that required a deposit hefty enough to make you hesitate before confirming it. You ordered a tiny cake from the bakery near the station too, small enough that it would not look absurd for two people.
Then you woke up to an empty side of the bed.
You showered early, mostly because there was nothing else to do that did not involve checking your phone again. The hot water ran over your shoulders and down your back, and for a little while you let yourself believe the silence meant something harmless.
Maybe he was asleep somewhere with his phone dead. Maybe the job had run so late that he had gone straight into another errand. Maybe—ridiculous thought—he was handling some last-minute detail for tonight, and that was why he had vanished completely.
By the time you stepped out and wrapped a towel around yourself, your hand was already reaching for the phone on the sink.
Still nothing.
You stood in front of the wardrobe for too long after that, damp hair cooling between your shoulder blades, fingers moving from hanger to hanger without taking anything down. One dress looked too hopeful. Another too plain. One made it seem as though you were trying too hard. Another made it feel as though you had already given up.
You wanted to look nice for him.
There was something so naked in that truth that it made your face warm even with no one there to see it.
In the end, you chose the one he had once looked at for half a second too long before catching himself. Soft fabric. Nothing loud. Just enough to make you feel pretty without feeling exposed by your own effort.
You picked up the cake just before noon and slid it carefully into the fridge behind a container of leftover takeout.
Then you checked your phone again.
Nothing.
Again, nothing while you waited for coffee. Nothing when you set your bag by the door. Nothing when you sat on the edge of the bed telling yourself to stop being dramatic, that the day was still young, that there was still time for all of this to make sense.
By afternoon, the air in the apartment had changed.
The excitement had stretched too thin. Hope had started to turn on itself.
You sent another message and tried to make it sound casual, as though concern had simply happened to come first.
Everything okay? Just checking. Reservation’s at eight, but we still have time.
Unread.
At some point, you stopped checking your phone at intervals and just started carrying it from room to room like something fragile.
When it became late enough that pretending not to worry felt stupid, you called the restaurant.
You were sitting on the edge of the bed with one heel on and the other lying on its side on the floor. Your bag was packed. Your hair was done. Perfume sat at your wrists and throat. Everything that could be ready was ready.
“Hi,” you said, forcing brightness into your voice. “I have a reservation for eight. We may be running a little late.”
The woman on the phone was perfectly polite, and that somehow made it worse. They could hold the table, she said, but only within the time already assigned. No matter when you arrived, the table would still be needed back by ten. The deposit, as explained at booking, would remain non-refundable in the event of a no-show.
“Of course,” you said quickly. “I understand.”
When the call ended, the room looked exactly the same as before, but something in it had gone thin and brittle.
You sat there with the phone still in your hand and stared at the carpet for a long moment. Then you bent down and fastened the second heel anyway.
For a while after that, you stayed dressed by force.
Eventually, you sent one last message.
I hope you’re alright.
Not Where are you? Not Did you forget? Just that. Something small enough to retreat into if he answered later. Something that did not confess how many hours of the day you had already spent shaped around him.
The night did not collapse all at once. It simply kept going.
When the clock hit nine, the backs of your heels were aching, so you slipped them off and lined them up neatly by the chair. The lipstick felt too bright on a face no one had seen, so you went to the bathroom and wiped it away with a cotton pad, slow and careful, as though that might make the humiliation smaller.
The dress stayed on longer than it should have, because taking it off felt too much like admitting the evening had ended without ever beginning. When you finally changed, you folded it over the vanity chair instead of dropping it in the hamper.
The cake stayed in the fridge.
By the time the front door finally opened, midnight had already come and gone.
Your body reacted before your pride did.
Relief hit first, fast and shameful. It rushed through you so suddenly it almost erased everything else for one humiliating second. He was home. He was here. He was fine. The sound of him in the doorway was enough to make your heart lurch toward him on instinct, like it had been waiting all night and had only just now been given permission to move.
Toji looked exhausted.
There was dampness at his temples. Fatigue sat hard in the line of his mouth and shoulders. He came in with the air of a man who had been wrung out by the day and had nothing gentle left to spare. Even the way he shut the door with his heel looked thoughtless.
“You’re back,” you said, and hated how relieved you sounded.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?” you asked. “I texted.”
He dragged his phone from his pocket, glanced at the dead screen, then dropped it onto the table with a dull little clack. “Job ran long.”
That was all.
No apology. No softening. Just a tired fact set between you like it ought to explain everything.
You nodded too quickly. “Oh.”
He was already taking off his shoes.
“You eat?” he asked.
The question landed with a kind of terrible plainness.
Not because it was cruel. Because it was ordinary. Because whatever this night had been to you, to him it had arrived as just another late return, another tired question, another apartment with another person waiting in it.
“No,” you said. “I was waiting.”
That made him look up.
His gaze went to your face first, then past you, taking in the room without understanding it yet. “For what?”
Something in your chest pulled tight.
“You said you’d be here tonight.”
He frowned a little, not guilty, not immediately apologetic, just searching backward through the day with the sluggishness of exhaustion.
Then: “I got held up.”
“...I know”
The irritation came then, slight but real, born of tiredness more than malice. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Then you should’ve eaten instead of sitting around waiting.”
“I thought we were going out,” You swallowed. “You promised.”
The words sounded pathetic the second they were in the room. Too small for everything they had held all day.
Toji’s expression stayed hard with fatigue.
“I said I’d be here,” His jaw shifted. “And I’m here.”
Something about the flatness of it hurt worse than if he had snapped. He had come home, and to him that seemed close enough. Close enough to count. Close enough that the rest of the night should not matter anymore.
“I called the restaurant,” you said, and hated the way your voice had started to thin. “I waited for you.”
He exhaled through his nose, already fraying at the edges. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
There it was.
Not loud. Not vicious. Not even fully deliberate. Just tired and careless and honest in the worst possible way. As if the real mistake here had been yours. As if the hurt in the room had been something you made yourself by wanting too much and arranging your day around it.
You looked away because your eyes had begun to burn.
“Right,” you said.
He must have seen your face then, because when he spoke again his voice had dropped.
Not softer, exactly. Just less impatient.
“C’mere.”
It was so like him that it almost made something ugly rise in your throat. Low voice. Warm hand.
The easy reach of a man who knew there were ways to smooth things over without having to say the hard thing properly.
His fingers settled at your waist and slid higher, familiar and certain, as if the evening could be folded shut that simply.
For one stunned second, you just stood there and let him.
Then his mouth touched your cheek. Your neck. His hand grazed the hem of your clothes, a quiet shift toward something physical, something easier, something he understood far better than apologies.
You caught his wrist.
He stopped.
“No,” you whispered.
Something tightened in his face then, not anger exactly, but the strain of realising he had misread the wound.
“What?” he said. “Thought that’s what you were waiting for.”
That did it.
You let go of his wrist very carefully.
“I did want you,” you said, and your throat nearly closed around it. “I wanted you here hours ago.”
Silence.
Not defensive now. Not blank either. Just silence.
You took a breath that did not quite steady you. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
This time, he moved aside.
You climbed under the covers with your face turned toward the wall and lay there rigid, listening to the apartment breathe around you. The fridge motor hummed once. A cupboard opened and shut. Water ran briefly in the sink.
At some point, the mattress dipped on the far side, and later still a familiar arm came to rest around your waist.
You did not push it away. You did not lean into it either.
Sleep would not come.
Every time you felt his arm tighten around you, the same thought returned. He had lived too much of his life with women as shelter, as transaction, as something blurred and physical and easy to leave by morning.
You had spent so long wanting to believe you were separate from all that.
But tonight, in the only moment that mattered, he had reached for you like he reached for them.
Maybe, to him, you were no different from all the other women who had come and gone through his life, warm for a night and gone by morning.
Struggled with this one, and it shows, haha. Criticism is more than welcome! Maybe a part 2?
❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !
𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.
❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)
you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.
but lust at first sight?
yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.
he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.
you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.
toji fushiguro.
your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.
the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never really recovered from it.
and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.
(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so. connect the dots.)
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.
fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.
but now?
you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.
and the worst part?
he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.
you wave when you see him— he nods.
you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs.
you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing.
not even a flicker of interest. not even a glance.
at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. maybe he had a secret wife. maybe he was— god forbid— celibate.
but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts—
his eyes dropped.
slow. deliberate.
right to your thighs.
then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.
and that’s when you knew.
he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.
which brings you to now.
standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.
it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.
but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.
because you’re a liar.
and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.
the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.
up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.
his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are not okay.
“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. like he was just in the middle of something. like you interrupted him.
you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.
“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”
he glances down. doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.
“…you live in 402, right?”
your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”
he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”
“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”
there’s a pause. a long one.
toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”
and then. then. a small voice behind him:
“who’s at the door?”
you peek past him instinctively—
and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, like he’s judging you in 4K.
toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”
“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.
“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”
you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.
you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.
“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.
toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”
you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.
abort mission. regroup.
you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”
he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.
silence.
the hallway feels colder now.
you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.
okay. so maybe the fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.
but you’re not giving up!
because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.
he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.
which brings you to:
❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)
you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency. eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.
you have a plan.
a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair and lazy sweatpants. not when his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.
step two starts tomorrow.
or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.
you’re in too deep to turn back now.
besides— if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.
you start running into him a lot more.
not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking. you’re just… situationally strategic.
like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.
you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”
he gave you a nod and kept jogging.
progress.
and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.
he walked in. saw you. paused.
you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”
toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”
another pause.
god, he’s so fucking impossible.
you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”
“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.
you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.
“right,” you laughed. “duh. neighbors.”
he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.
the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.
like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.
“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.
but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.
you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”
that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.
he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.
“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living your sitcom fantasy.
“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”
you beamed. “just making conversation.”
he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.
and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”
toji blinked. glanced up.
megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.
“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”
“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”
you waved. again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.
megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.
“…hi.”
victory.
you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.
he’s slipping.
and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.
❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)
it starts with a fake injury.
not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.
you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.
toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” as though gravity personally attacked you.
he stops. eyes narrow.
“…what the hell happened to you?”
you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”
technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.
“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.
“…gravity’s everywhere.”
he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and then crouches down.
you try not to short-circuit.
his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.
he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”
you pout. “still hurts.”
toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.
you make a noise that is not normal.
“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”
“excuse me??”
“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”
you are going to die here.
he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.
“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”
he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper:
“oh my god.”
step three is officially a success.
after that, things shift.
slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.
the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.
“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.
you blink. “what?”
“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”
you nearly trip over your own shoes.
when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.
and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.
you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.
toji shows up to get him an hour later.
he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.
“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”
you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”
toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.
“…yeah. he’s good.”
he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.
a few days pass.
and then— he knocks on your door.
you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.
“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”
your brain goes static.
you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.
“thank you,” you breathe, like it’s something sacred.
you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic forks. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.
he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed ankle stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.
and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. linger.
“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”
you almost pass out.
“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”
he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.
note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.
❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)
you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.
tight tank tops with no bra? daily.
asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.
bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.
you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.
you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.
you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact— just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.
and toji?
toji has looked.
slow. restrained. but it’s there.
the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.
especially tonight.
it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:
you up?
no response…
you try again:
i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?
there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:
don’t burn your kitchen down.
which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.
you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.
the door swings open. and there he is.
shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.
“you actually baked something?”
you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”
he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.
you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.
“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”
toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”
you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.
“i want something,” you murmur.
he watches you. unreadable.
your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. kiss you.
and then— he stands up.
you freeze.
no.
he walks to the door.
absolutely not.
he opens it.
“go home, sweetheart.”
you blink. “…what?”
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.
“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”
the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.
you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens. closes. no words come out.
no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.
you take the hint.
you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.
❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)
you’ve stopped trying.
no more cookies. no fake run-ins or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could possibly mistake for an invitation
you go cold. polite. distant.
“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.
“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.
you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.
when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.
you start going out more.
wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.
you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
you know he’s listening.
you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.
and then the shift begins.
it’s subtle, at first.
he starts speaking more.
“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.
you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”
“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.
you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”
he stares a second too long.
you keep walking.
the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the first time.
you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.
“…got plans tonight?” he asks.
you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.
“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”
he doesn’t answer. just scoffs. looks away.
but his jaw tightens. you see it.
and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.
you don’t stop. you don’t wait.
and then— one night. late.
a knock at your door.
you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.
but then you do.
he’s there.
black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.
you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.
you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.
“why?” you say. “you jealous?”
he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.
he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.
“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”
jackpot.
you smile. slow. wicked.
“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”
❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)
the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.
his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.
“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”
you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”
“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.
“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”
you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.
you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.
“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”
you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.
he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.
“use your words.”
“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”
“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”
he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.
you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.
“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”
your mouth drops open.
“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”
“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”
his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.
“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”
he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.
you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.
he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.
you scream.
it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.
“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, already setting a brutal pace, hips snapping hard into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”
you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”
he doesn’t. he can’t.
he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.
“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”
“toji—”
“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”
“daddy—” you choke.
his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.
“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”
“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”
“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”
he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.
your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.
you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”
he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.
“not done with you yet,” he mutters.
then he dives in.
he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”
you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.
“yes- fuck- yes—”
he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.
you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.
“too much, too much—”
“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”
and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.
when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.
he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.
“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.
your brain breaks. completely.
you whimper, nodding frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “yes please”
he grins. dark. cocky. dangerous.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.
“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”
you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”
he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.
he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”
his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.
“you’re mine now.”
you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.
you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.
and he’s still inside you.
still hard.
you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.
“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.
his hand tightens on your hip immediately.
“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.
you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”
“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”
you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.
“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”
“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.
“you will.”
your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.
“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.
“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”
you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.
“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”
“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”
you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”
his grip tightens.
“say it again.”
“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”
“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”
“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.
he laughs. low. mean.
“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”
his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.
you jolt hard.
“nono, please- s’too much—”
he circles it anyway.
slow.
you squeal.
your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.
“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”
you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.
“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.
“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”
you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.
he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.
you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.
“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.
you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.
“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”
and then he starts again.
hard.
faster this time.
your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.
“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.
“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”
he fucks you deeper with every word.
“who’s pussy is this?”
“yours—!” you sob.
“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”
“you—! just you—!”
“damn right.”
his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.
“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”
you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.
you’re gone. completely.
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.
“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”
you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”
“yes you can.”
his hand finds your clit again.
you break.
your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.
“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.
you collapse under him completely.
he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.
then, softer this time— just a little—
“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”
you don’t respond. you physically can’t.
you’re just… gone.
and he sounds way too pleased about it.
you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.
and toji’s still there.
sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.
you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.
he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, like the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:
“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”
you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”
he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”
you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.
you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:
“so… what are we now?”
he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)
he exhales.
then, low. rough. certain.
“mine.”
you short-circuit. go quiet.
he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.
you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.
his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, like he’s petting you. like you’re his. like this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.
and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”
toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.
“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.
you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”
“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”
“…you blew my back out.”
“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”
you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.
you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.
i rlly spent the whole night editing/finishing this osmgdkkdks, i’m lowk experimenting and thought i’d try smth different so i hope u guys like thissss >.<
SYPNOSIS .ᐟ in which Eren Jaeger is overwhelmed by the expectations placed on him as president of Sigma Kappa Phi, and meets a girl who helps him to escape
⋆ INCLUDES fluff, not super descriptive or graphic smut, kissing, making out, drinking, smoking, eren is lowkey philosophical, zeke jaeger (yikes!), college! au, frat boy eren
⌗ A NOTE FROM MADDIE ⸝⸝ tbh i feel like i lowkey ate with eren's moody philosophical shit, lmk what you think!! also i wrote the scene where he sees her thinking about the one from heated rivalry lmfao
The bass didn't just rattle the windows; it vibrated straight through the sticky soles of your sneakers and settled somewhere deep in your ribs. The main floor of the Sigma Kappa Phi house was a neon-drenched riot. Strobe lights sliced through the haze of cheap smoke and spilled beer, illuminating a sea of bodies moving out of sync to a remix that was entirely too loud.
You were three cups deep into something dangerously sweet from a cooler in the kitchen, and the alcohol had just started to smooth out the jagged edges of the night. The room felt warm, the lights trailing slightly when you turned your head. You were leaning against a relatively safe stretch of wall near the hallway, letting the chaos wash over you, when the crowd shifted.
That was when you saw him.
Eren Jaeger was holding court in the center of the living room, exactly where he wanted to be. He looked like the patron saint of bad decisions—a dark green unbuttoned flannel slipping off one shoulder, a white tank top underneath, his hair a messy, sweaty halo around his face. He was laughing at something a guy in a backward cap was shouting over the music, a red solo cup swinging loosely in his grip. He was in his element. He fed off the noise, the energy, the reckless momentum of the party.
But then, he turned his head.
Through the strobe lights and the shifting maze of dancing bodies, his eyes locked onto yours.
The laugh died on his lips. You watched the exact second the party stopped existing for him. The shift was so visceral, so sudden, it made the breath catch in your throat. He stood perfectly still in the middle of a dancing crowd, staring at you like you were the only solid object in a room full of ghosts.
You didn't know him. You had never spoken a word to him. But the way he looked at you—heavy, dark, and utterly consumed—felt like a physical touch.
Someone bumped into him, spilling a splash of beer on his arm. He didn't even flinch. He just handed his cup to whoever was standing next to him, never breaking eye contact with you, and started walking forward.
The crowd parted for him effortlessly, like they didn't know he was walking by, only felt the aura radiating off of him. You pressed your back a little harder against the wall, a sudden, intoxicating spike of adrenaline cutting through the warm fuzz of the alcohol. He moved with a predatory kind of grace, his gaze tracking you with a raw, undisguised yearning that made your pulse hammer in your ears, drowning out the music.
When he finally stopped in front of you, he was far too close. He brought with him the scent of expensive cologne, tequila, and the sharp, electric heat of his skin.
He didn't say a word at first. He just looked at you, his eyes dropping to your mouth and then slowly tracing back up to your eyes. Up close, you could see the flush of the alcohol high on his cheekbones, the slight parting of his lips as he caught his breath.
He raised a hand and placed it flat against the wall, right beside your head. He leaned in, caging you in, shielding you from the crush of the party behind him.
"I know everyone in this house," he said. His voice was a low, rough rasp, forced to dip directly by your ear to be heard over the thumping bass. The heat of his breath sent a shiver straight down your spine. "So why the fuck don't I know you?"
"I don't usually come to these things," you managed to say. Your voice felt entirely too breathless. You tilted your chin up to look at him. "And you look like you're usually busy."
"I was," he murmured. His gaze dropped to your lips again, lingering there, completely uninhibited by the alcohol. You look past him, and he moves to block your vision with his broad shoulders. "I don't care about any of them right now."
He shifted his weight, closing the remaining fraction of an inch between you until the fabric of his flannel brushed against your shirt. The chaotic energy he had been projecting to the room just moments ago had condensed into a singular, overwhelming focus. He wanted to be at this party, yes—but suddenly, he only wanted to be at it with you.
His free hand moved, his fingers lightly brushing the side of your waist. It was a hesitant touch, completely at odds with the bold, arrogant way he had crossed the room, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he held on too tight.
"I was having a great time," Eren confessed, his voice dropping into a dark, hypnotic vibration against your ear. "And then I saw you against this wall. And it felt like someone knocked all the air out of my lungs."
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression completely stripped of the frat-boy bravado. It was replaced by something desperate and hungry.
"Tell me your name," he demanded softly, his thumb tracing a slow, burning line against the fabric of your shirt at your waist. "Before I lose my mind in here."
The pulse of the house didn't just stay in the floorboards; it climbed up through your legs, settling in your chest until your own heartbeat felt like it was being dictated by the DJ downstairs. Eren didn't wait for an answer to his question. He didn't even wait for you to agree.
He reached out, his hand sliding down from the wall to catch your wrist. His grip was firm, warm, and slightly calloused—the hand of someone who spent as much time in the gym or on the field as he did holding a drink. He didn't tug you aggressively, but there was a gravitational pull to him that made following feel like the only logical conclusion.
"The wall is boring," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to back away, drawing you into the thick of the crowd. "Come here."
The transition from the periphery to the center of the room was a blur of neon sweat and vibrating air. As you moved deeper into the mass of bodies, hand in Eren's, the world outside this specific house—classes, the future, the cold rain hitting the windows—simply ceased to exist.
Eren navigated the crowd with a practiced ease, his body a shield that carved a path for you. When he finally stopped, you were in the very center of the living room, directly under the strobe lights. The music was so loud it felt like a physical weight, a rhythmic crushing of the senses.
He turned to face you, and for a moment, the strobe light caught him in a series of frozen, jagged frames: Eren laughing, Eren looking at you with a hunger that was almost painful to witness, Eren leaning down to bridge the gap.
He didn't dance like the other guys in the room—there was no performative bravado, no irony. He moved with a raw, restless energy, his hands finding your waist and drawing you flush against him. The heat radiating off him was staggering. Through the thin fabric of your clothes, you could feel the hard lines of his legs and the frantic rhythm of his breathing.
In the narrative of the night, this was supposed to be just a party. But for Eren, everything was high stakes. Even here, surrounded by the "empty noise" he claimed to despise, he was searching for something absolute. In his mind, this wasn't just a dance; it was a temporary liberation from the walls he felt closing in on him every day. To him, the sweat and the loud music were the only things that felt honest enough to drown out the silence of a life he felt was already decided for him.
"You're too quiet," he breathed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. He had to shout to be heard, but his voice still carried that low, gravelly vibration. "I can't tell what you're thinking."
He shifted his grip, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tangling slightly in the hair at the base of your neck. He pulled you closer, forcing you to tilt your head back to look at him. The green of his eyes was electric under the blue and purple lights, dilated and dark with a yearning that felt like it could swallow the room whole.
"I'm thinking you're a lot more intense than a guy at a frat party should be," you yelled back, a dizzying mix of alcohol and adrenaline making you bolder than usual.
Eren’s response was a sharp, sudden grin that didn't reach his eyes—it was the look of someone who had finally been caught in a lie. He leaned down, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. The world around you—the screaming, the spilling drinks, the chaotic joy of a hundred strangers—melted into a smear of irrelevant color.
"Maybe," he whispered, the word lost to everyone but you. "Or maybe everyone else just isn't intense enough."
He moved his hands down to your hips again, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your jeans, pulling you so tight against him that you could feel the hitch in his breath every time the beat dropped. He wasn't just dancing with you; he was anchoring himself to you. He looked at you with a terrifying sort of clarity, as if he were trying to memorize every line of your face before the lights came up and the illusion shattered.
The air between you was thick, charged with the kind of friction that precedes a lightning strike. The music reached a crescendo, a wall of sound that felt like it was about to burst the room at the seams.
The heavy, humid air of the living room was suddenly replaced by a sharp, biting draft as Eren pulled you toward the back of the house. He didn't say where you were going, but his grip on your hand was possessive, a silent promise that the noise was over.
He kicked open a heavy fire door at the end of a service hallway, and the transition was violent. One second, you were submerged in the rhythmic, artificial throb of a bassline; the next, the world was vast, cold, and eerily still.
The metal grating of the landing clattered under his boots as he led you up a short flight of stairs to a secluded balcony overlooking the darkened campus woods. The rain had slowed to a fine, misty drizzle that clung to the air like woodsmoke.
Eren leaned back against the brick wall, the orange glow of a streetlamp in the distance catching the sharp, exhausted lines of his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack, his fingers steady despite the alcohol. He didn't offer a polite "do you want one?" He simply held the pack open toward you, an unspoken acknowledgment that you were both looking for the same thing—a way to ground yourselves.
He struck a lighter, the small flame momentarily illuminating the green of his eyes. It wasn't the triumphant green you’d seen on the dance floor. It was a darker, more turbulent shade. He took a slow, deep drag, leaning his head back against the cold brick and exhaling a long, thin plume of smoke into the damp night air.
"Better," he rasped, his voice sounding raw now that it didn't have to compete with the speakers. "I was starting to feel like the walls were moving in."
You stood beside him, the cold air seeping through your clothes, a sobering shock to your system. You watched the smoke curl and vanish into the mist. Downstairs, people were losing themselves in the crowd, desperate to forget they had anywhere else to be. Up here, under the vast, uncaring sky, the weight of the "college experience" felt like a cheap costume.
"You're good at it," you said quietly, leaning your elbows on the railing. "The party. The acting. Everyone down there thinks you’re the sun they’re supposed to orbit."
Eren let out a short, mirthless huff of air. He looked out at the treeline, his expression hardening. "That’s the problem. They orbit the sun because they’re afraid of the dark. They think if they stay loud enough, the 'real' world—the one where we’re all just drifting toward an ending we didn't choose—won't catch up to them."
He turned his head to look at you, his gaze heavy and analytical. "But you... you looked like you were already standing in the dark. Even in the middle of that room."
The philosophical distance between you—the stranger and the frat-boy icon—evaporated. He reached out, his hand sliding across the cold metal railing until his fingers brushed yours. His skin was still hot from the dance floor, a stark contrast to the freezing iron.
"Is it freedom?" he asked, his voice dropping into that low, vibrating register that made your heart skip. "To know the party is a lie? Or is it just another kind of prison?"
He didn't wait for you to answer. He stepped closer, invading your space until the scent of rain and tobacco was all you could breathe. He looked down at you, his eyes searching yours for a spark of recognition, for someone who finally understood that his intensity wasn't a choice—it was a survival tactic.
"I don't know your name," he whispered, his face inches from yours, "and I don't know where you came from. But I think you're the first person I've seen in four years who isn't just a shadow."
He reached up, his thumb slowly wiping a stray drop of mist from your cheek. The touch was agonizingly slow, a deliberate pause in the chaos of the night. The silence between you was heavy, thick with the things people only admit to strangers when they're halfway to nowhere.
The name left your lips like a secret, barely audible over the distant, muffled thump of the music vibrating through the brick wall behind you. It felt small out here, dwarfed by the expansive dark of the campus and the intensity of the man standing inches away.
Eren repeated it, his voice a low, gravelly roll that seemed to taste the syllables. He didn't just hear it; he appeared to weigh it, as if trying to decide if the person standing before him matched the label the world had given you.
"It sounds too quiet for a place like this," he murmured, his eyes searching yours with a newfound, singular focus. He took another drag, the tip of the cigarette glowing a fierce, fleeting orange before he exhaled, the smoke swirling between you like a physical barrier. "Most people here... their names are just titles. President. Legacy. Star athlete. They’re just placeholders for a life someone else designed."
He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. The cold mist on his flannel felt damp against your skin, but the heat of his body was a constant, radiating force.
"Do you ever feel like you’re just wearing it?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Like your name is just a costume you put on every morning so people don't realize there's nothing solid underneath?"
You looked out at the rain-slicked quad, the orange streetlamps reflecting in the puddles like fallen stars. "Maybe. Or maybe we’re just afraid that if we take the costume off, we won’t like what’s left."
Eren let out a short, sharp breath—a ghost of a laugh. He dropped the cigarette, crushing it under the heel of his boot with a slow, deliberate pressure that felt oddly symbolic. He turned fully toward you, trapping you against the iron railing. His hands came up to rest on the metal on either side of your hips, his large frame effectively cutting off the rest of the world.
"I like what's left," he said, his gaze dropping to your lips and staying there. The alcohol-induced haze had sharpened into a piercing, desperate clarity. "I liked it the second I saw you standing against that wall. You weren't performing. You were just... there. And I’ve spent my whole life surrounded by people who are never just 'there.'"
The air between you felt pressurized, as if the storm was finally moving inside the house. The dampness of the night, the smell of tobacco, and the sheer gravity of his presence made the balcony feel like the only square foot of reality left in the world.
The heavy fire door groaned on its hinges, the sound of metal scraping against stone cutting through the damp silence like a blade. The muffled roar of the party surged outward for a split second—a chaotic burst of synthesizers and cheering—before the door clicked shut again, leaving a new figure standing in the shadows of the landing.
Zeke Jaeger didn't look like he belonged at a frat party, yet he occupied the space with the effortless, terrifying confidence of a man who owned the building. He was older, his blonde hair pulled back neatly, his glasses catching the dim amber light of the streetlamps below. He looked polished, surgical, and entirely unimpressed by the raw, bleeding intensity Eren had been radiating.
"There you are, little brother," Zeke said. His voice was smooth, a cultured baritone that lacked Eren’s jagged edge. He didn't look at you first; his eyes were fixed on Eren, watching him with a patronizing kind of affection that made Eren’s jaw tighten instantly.
The shift in Eren was instantaneous. The vulnerability you had glimpsed—the man who felt like he was drowning in the "empty noise"—was vanished behind a wall of cold, practiced indifference. He didn't move his hands from the railing where he had you pinned, but the heat in his gaze had turned to ice.
"We’re busy, Zeke," Eren muttered, not turning around.
"I can see that," Zeke replied, finally casting a brief, analytical glance your way. It wasn't a look of interest, but of assessment—as if he were measuring your value in a game you didn't know you were playing. "But the house is waiting. Tradition dictates the President leads the midnight toast, and since you’re currently wearing the letters, it would be poor form to keep the sheep waiting for their shepherd."
The weight of Zeke’s presence was suffocating. He represented the very "costume" Eren had just been lamenting—the preordained path, the legacy, the cycle of expectations that turned people into hollow vessels for a family name. To Zeke, the party wasn't a distraction or a means to escape; it was a tool.
Eren let out a breath that was almost a growl, his fingers tightening on the iron railing. He was caught between the rare, honest connection he had just found with you and the crushing momentum of the life his brother was constantly forcing him to lead.
"Go tell them I'll be there in five minutes," Eren said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low vibration.
"You've been saying 'five minutes' since you were ten years old, Eren," Zeke sighed, stepping closer. The smell of expensive tobacco and sterilized air followed him. "The problem with trying to be 'real' in a world built on performances is that eventually, you just end up being the only one not playing the music. And that makes you a target, not a hero." It's suddenly very clear to you that the two brothers have had this conversation before.
Zeke reached out, patting Eren’s shoulder with a heavy, possessive hand. "Finish your conversation. But don't forget who’s waiting downstairs. The Jaeger name doesn't belong to just you."
Zeke turned and retreated back into the house, the door shutting with a final, heavy thud. The silence that returned was different—it was no longer intimate. It was poisoned by the reminder that Eren wasn't just a guy at a party; he was a piece in a much larger, much older machine.
Eren stayed silent for a long moment, his forehead dropping to rest against the cool metal of the railing near your hand. The fire in him seemed to have dimmed, replaced by a weary, resentful exhaustion.
"You see?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "The noise always finds a way back in."
He looked up at you, his green eyes searching yours with a desperate, silent plea. He was still the frat boy, still the star, still the legend—but in the shadow of his brother, he looked like a man who was realized he was just another line in someone else’s script.
The sound of the fire door clicking shut behind Zeke felt like a gavel hitting a sounding block. The muffled "thump-thump-thump" of the bass through the brick walls started up again, a persistent reminder of the life waiting to swallow Eren whole.
Eren remained paralyzed, his forehead still pressed against the cold iron of the railing. His knuckles were white where he gripped the metal, his shoulders tense enough to snap. He looked like a man standing on a ledge, deciding whether to jump or crawl back through the window.
You looked at the back of his head, at the messy knot of dark hair and the damp fabric of his shirt. The "Jaeger" name Zeke mentioned sounded like a lead weight.
"You know," you said, your voice cutting through the damp chill, "the back stairs lead straight to the gravel lot. My car is parked three blocks away."
Eren didn't move at first. "Zeke will notice. The whole house will notice. If the President isn't there for the midnight toast, it’s a 'statement.'"
"Let them make a statement, then," you countered, stepping closer until you were standing right behind him. "You just spent ten minutes telling me how much you hate the noise."
Eren finally lifted his head. He turned slowly, his green eyes bloodshot and searching. The rain-mist had settled on his skin, making him look pale and ghostly under the amber streetlights. He looked at you—not as a conquest or a distraction, but as a literal exit sign in a room with no doors.
"You'd really just leave?" he asked, his voice rough. "You don't even know me. For all you know, I’m exactly the jerk my brother thinks I am."
"I know you're miserable," you said simply. "And I know I’d rather be anywhere else but this balcony. If you stay, you're just proving him right. You're just a part of his machine."
That did it. The mention of being a "part" of something else—of lacking his own agency—flickered in his eyes like a match. The nihilistic exhaustion vanished, replaced by a sudden, jagged spark of rebellion. It was the same intensity that made him the king of the frat house, but this time, it was aimed at the exit.
"The gravel lot," he repeated, a dark, sudden grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Key is under the wheel well?"
"I'm not a cliché, Eren. I have the fob in my pocket."
He didn't wait. He grabbed your hand, his grip hot and desperate, and led you down the narrow, rusted metal stairs of the fire escape. Each step clanged in the quiet alleyway, a loud, metallic rhythm that felt like a countdown.
We ducked behind a row of overflowing dumpsters, moving through the shadows of the Greek Row houses. We could see the silhouettes of people silhouetted in the windows of the neighboring houses—Sigma Kaps, Delta Nus—all of them playing their parts, oblivious to the fact that the "main character" was currently sprinting toward a beat-up sedan three blocks away.
When we reached the car, the silence of the residential street felt heavy and holy. Eren slumped into the passenger seat, his long legs cramped in the small space, his head hitting the headrest with a dull thud. He looked out the window as you pulled away from the curb, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.
The neon lights of the frat house faded in the rearview mirror, shrinking until they were nothing more than a dull, pulsing bruise on the horizon.
You ended up at a 24-hour diner on the edge of town, the kind of place with cracked vinyl booths and the smell of burnt coffee. The fluorescent lights were unforgiving, stripping away the glamour of the party and leaving only the reality of the night.
Eren sat across from you, his damp flannel shirt draped over the back of the booth. He was staring into a white ceramic mug, the steam rising to meet his tired eyes.
"Zeke is going to lose his mind," he said quietly. There was no fear in his voice, only a strange, hollow satisfaction. "He thinks he can script every second of my life because he did it first. He thinks 'freedom' is just a word we use to feel better about our cages."
"And what do you think?" you asked, leaning back.
Eren looked up, his gaze settling on you with a terrifyingly focused clarity. The "frat boy" was gone. The "legacy" was gone.
"I think," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate vibration, "that I’ve spent my whole life waiting for someone to offer me a way out. And I think I’m not going back to that house tomorrow."
He reached across the table, his hand covering yours. His skin was still warm, but the frantic energy from the dance floor had settled into something steadier, something more dangerous.
"So," he murmured, "where are we going when the sun comes up?"
The drive back to campus was a blur of streetlamps and silence, a stark contrast to the thumping pressure of the Sigma Kappa Phi house. By the time you reached your dorm, the rain had settled into a heavy, rhythmic pulse against the glass of the hallway windows.
Eren didn't look like a campus king anymore. In the harsh, flickering LED light of the dorm hallway, he looked like a man who had just survived a wreck. He was still damp, his hair falling into his eyes, his knuckles red from gripping the iron railing earlier. But as you swiped your keycard and the door clicked open, the tension in his shoulders didn't leave—it shifted.
Your room was small, a sanctuary of ordered books and quiet air that smelled of vanilla and old paper. It was everything the Jaeger name wasn't. Eren stepped inside, and the space felt instantly crowded. He looked out of place—too big, too intense, too loud even when he was silent.
He didn't sit down. He stood in the center of the room, his eyes scanning your things with a haunting, quiet curiosity. He lingered on a photo, a stack of notes, a half-finished cup of tea. It was as if he were trying to understand how a person could exist so peacefully while he felt like he was constantly at war.
"It’s so quiet in here," he whispered, turning to face you. The orange glow of your desk lamp caught the sharp angle of his jaw. "I forgot what it’s like to just... be."
"You’re allowed to just be here, Eren," you said, closing the door. The sound of the lock sliding into place was the final severance from the night's chaos. "No Zeke. No house toast. No noise."
He didn't wait for another word. He crossed the small distance between you in two strides, his hands coming up to cup your face with a desperate, shaky urgency. His skin was still hot, a feverish contrast to the rain-cooled air of the room.
When his lips met yours, it wasn't a gentle start. It was a collision—the culmination of the yearning he’d been wearing like a shroud all night. It tasted like the diner’s coffee and the lingering ghost of a cigarette, but mostly it felt like an anchor. He kissed you with a starving intensity, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you flush against him as if he were trying to merge your heartbeats.
He backed you up against the door, his weight pinning you there, his breath hitching every time you responded. This wasn't the performative "frat boy" charm; this was the raw, jagged reality underneath. Every touch was an admission, a silent scream of someone who had finally found a way to feel real amidst a life of artifice.
"I didn't think..." he muttered against your lips, his voice a broken rasp. He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes dilated and dark. "I didn't think tonight was going to end like this. I thought I was just going to go back to being a ghost."
"You're not a ghost," you breathed, your hands sliding up his chest to the damp fabric of his shirt. "Why would you think that?"
He let out a low, ragged sound, his grip on your waist tightening as he dove back in. The makeout session grew heavier, fueled by the adrenaline of the escape and the sheer magnetic pull that had been building since he first saw you against that wall. His hands moved with a restless, searching energy—across your shoulders, down your back—anchoring him to the here and now.
In the quiet of the dorm, with the rain hammering the world outside, the only thing that mattered was the heat of his skin and the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him from drifting away.
The air in the small dorm room felt thick, charged with the kind of static that only follows a narrow escape. Eren’s hands, still warm from the adrenaline of the night, slid from your face to your shoulders, his grip grounding and heavy. He kissed you with a desperate sort of hunger, as if he were trying to anchor himself to the present moment before the reality of his brother’s expectations could pull him back under.
Backed against the door, you could feel the rhythmic thud of the bass from the party still echoing in the ghost-memory of your muscles, but here, the only rhythm was his breathing—jagged and shallow against your skin. He pulled back for a fraction of a second, his green eyes dark and unfocused in the dim light of your desk lamp.
"I don't want to go back," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rasp that felt more like a confession than a statement. "Not to that house. Not to any of it."
He didn't wait for an answer before leaning back in, his mouth finding the sensitive curve of your neck. The scruff of his jaw was a sharp, tactile reminder of the chaotic night he’d just fled. Every touch was an assertion of his own will, a way of proving to himself that he wasn't just a piece on Zeke’s chessboard.
His hands moved to your waist, pulling you so close that the damp fabric of his shirt bled its chill into your skin, yet the heat radiating from him was overwhelming. It was an intense, silent conversation held in the dark—a shared rebellion against the "noise" he hated so much. For the first time all night, the frantic energy that usually drove him seemed to settle into something singular and focused.
He lifted you slightly, urging you toward the bed, never breaking the contact. The world outside the room—the Jaeger name, the frat, the impending sunrise—felt a million miles away, dampened by the quiet walls of your sanctuary.
The room felt like it was shrinking, the walls of your dorm closing in not to cage you, but to insulate the two of you from the rest of the world. Eren’s kiss was no longer just an escape; it was an anchor. He moved with a restless, magnetic energy, his hands sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against the heat of his chest.
He tasted of the rain and the sharp, lingering salt of the night. Every time his breath hitched against your lips, it felt like a crack in the "Jaeger" armor he’d been forced to wear for years. He wasn't the star of the party here. He wasn't Zeke's shadow. He was just a man, desperate and raw, searching for something real in the dark.
"I’ve spent so much time shouting just to hear my own voice," he whispered, his forehead leaning against yours as he paused for a ragged breath. His eyes were blown wide, dark with an intensity that had moved past simple adrenaline into something much deeper. "But with you... the silence doesn't feel like a threat."
His hands trailed upward, his thumbs brushing the line of your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back. The kiss that followed was slower, more deliberate, a silent claim. It wasn't the practiced charm of a frat boy; it was the heavy, crushing weight of a man who had finally found the one place where he didn't have to perform.
He urged you toward the bed, the mattress dipping under your combined weight. The small space of the dorm room was charged with a heavy, electric friction. As he leaned over you, his hair falling forward to shield the two of you from the dim glow of the lamp, the world outside—the fraternity, the expectations, the inevitable sunrise—simply ceased to matter. There was only the heat of his skin, the rhythm of his heart against yours, and the shared, quiet rebellion of the moment.
The rhythm of the rain against the windowpane became the only metronome that mattered, a soft, percussive counterpoint to the heat rising between you. Eren’s weight was a solid, grounding presence, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt to find the bare skin of your waist. His palms were calloused and hot, searing a path that made the lingering chill of the night vanish instantly.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving, his green eyes luminous and predatory in the low amber glow of the desk lamp. The messy halo of his hair was damp against your pillow, and for a heartbeat, the frantic, jagged energy of the "Patron Saint of Bad Decisions" smoothed out into something devastatingly vulnerable.
"I’m not going back," he whispered again, his voice cracking slightly, less a statement of fact and more a prayer. "I’m staying right here. In this room. In this air."
He didn't wait for you to agree; he knew you were already there with him. He leaned down, his lips trailing a path from your jaw to the sensitive pulse point at the base of your throat. You felt the vibration of his low groan against your skin as your fingers tangled in the dark silk of his hair, pulling him closer. The space between you wasn't just physical anymore; it was a vacuum that the rest of the world was trying to fill, but he was holding the door shut with every touch.
His hands traveled higher, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your ribs, tracing the frantic thrum of your heart. He was mapping you out, memorizing the terrain of someone who didn't want anything from him but his presence.
"You have no idea," he breathed against your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe in a way that sent a fresh spike of lightning down your spine. "How long I've been looking for a place where I didn't have to be 'Eren Jaeger.'"
He shifted, his knee sliding between yours as he pinned you deeper into the mattress. The world of Sigma Kappa Phi, the "midnight toast," and Zeke’s cold, calculating eyes felt like a fever dream you’d both woken up from. Here, in the dim sanctuary of your room, the only "tradition" was the way your breath hitched when he moved, and the only "legacy" was the heat blooming where his skin met yours.
As he captured your lips again, slower this time, deeper, the intensity shifted from a desperate escape into a deliberate, burning focus. The night was far from over, and for the first time in his life, Eren wasn't running toward a goal or away from a ghost. He was just here. With you.
The transition from the door to the bed felt like a slow-motion descent into a world where only the two of you existed. Eren didn't let go of you for a single second; it was as if the physical connection was the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor. When you finally reached the edge of the mattress, the shift from standing to lying back felt like a release of a tension you hadn't realized you were carrying since the moment your eyes first locked in that crowded living room.
Eren hovered over you, his arms braced on either side of your head, his dark hair falling forward like a curtain that shut out the rest of your room. The only light came from the soft, amber glow of the desk lamp, casting long, flickering shadows against the wall. He looked down at you with a gaze that was almost painful in its honesty—no smirks, no bravado, just the raw, unvarnished need of a man who had finally found a place to land.
His hands, still slightly damp from the mist outside, moved with a newfound, trembling deliberation. He reached for the hem of his green flannel, the fabric heavy and smelling of woodsmoke and the cold night air. With a fluid, restless motion, he shrugged it off his shoulders, letting it pool on the floor like a discarded skin. The white tank top underneath followed, tossed aside with a focused impatience that made his chest heave as he caught his breath.
In the dim light, the lean, hard lines of his torso were a map of every mile he’d run and every weight he’d lifted to meet someone else’s expectations of what a "Jaeger" should be. But as his fingers moved to the buttons of your shirt, his touch was surprisingly hesitant, his eyes searching yours for permission with every millimeter of progress.
"Is this okay?" he rasped, his voice dropping into that low, magnetic vibration that seemed to settle directly in your chest. "I don't want to rush this. I want to remember every second of it."
You reached up, your fingers brushing against the hot skin of his collarbone, and the contact seemed to electrify him. As the layers of the night—the party, the noise, the damp clothes—were shed and left on the hardwood floor, the vulnerability between you became absolute. Without the armor of his "President" persona or the costume of the frat-boy icon, he looked younger, softer, and infinitely more dangerous to your heart.
He sank down against you, the heat of his skin finally meeting yours without any barriers. The contact was a shock to the system, a grounding force that made the rest of the world feel like a distant, fading radio signal. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, taking a deep, shuddering breath of the vanilla and soap scent of your skin.
"Finally," he whispered against your pulse, his hands sliding up to cradle your head as he pulled you into a kiss that was no longer a frantic escape, but a slow, burning promise. "It’s just us."
The air in the room seemed to thin, leaving only the heat radiating between your bodies as the last of the damp, party-stained clothes hit the floor. Eren moved with a reverent sort of intensity, his hands tracing the curve of your waist and the line of your hip as if he were trying to memorize you through touch alone.
When he finally pulled you against him, skin to skin, the contact was a physical jolt. He was all hard angles and feverish warmth, a stark contrast to the cool sheets beneath you. He let out a long, shuddering exhale against your collarbone as you joined at your core, his muscles finally losing that hair-trigger tension he’d been carrying since the balcony.
"You have no idea," he murmured, his voice vibrating deep in his chest, "how loud it usually is in my head. But right now... it's just your heart."
He shifted, rising over you on his elbows, his dark hair falling forward to frame your face. In the amber glow of the lamp, his eyes were a stormy, brilliant green, focused entirely on you with a hunger that wasn't just physical—it was a craving for the reality you represented. He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that started slow and syrupy before igniting into something deep and all-consuming.
His hands slid up to cradle your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, anchoring you to him as the world outside the dorm room door ceased to exist. Every brush of his skin against yours, every ragged breath he drew, felt like a deliberate choice to stay in this moment, far away from the "Jaeger" legacy and the expectations of the crowd.
For Eren, this wasn't just a night at a party; it was the first time he felt like he was breathing air that belonged only to him. He pulled you closer, his legs intertwining with yours, closing every remaining inch of space until there was no beginning or end to the heat between you.
The rain continued its relentless assault on the window, the sound now a rhythmic, soothing backdrop to the quiet intensity inside the room. Eren’s focus remained entirely on you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every second spent in this small, quiet space was a victory against the life he’d left behind at the Sigma Kappa Phi house.
The heat between you was no longer just a byproduct of the dance floor or the adrenaline of the escape; it had settled into a steady, pulsing glow. He traced the line of your shoulder with his thumb, his gaze following the movement with a heavy, quiet reverence. The silence of the dorm was profound, broken only by the catch of his breath and the soft rustle of the sheets as he shifted closer, pulling the duvet over both of you to shut out the lingering chill of the night.
"I don't want the sun to come up," he admitted afterward, his voice a low, rough murmur against your temple. He wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you into the curve of his body, his skin still radiating a feverish warmth. "I just want to stay right here, where the world can't find us."
In the dim amber light, the sharp, defensive lines of his face had finally softened. He looked at you not as a stranger he’d plucked from a crowd, but as a person who had seen the cracks in his armor and offered him a place to breathe anyway. He pressed a final, lingering kiss to your forehead, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion of the night—and the weight of the Jaeger name—finally began to give way to a restless, honest sleep.
For a few hours, the "President" was gone. The "Legacy" was silent. There was only the sound of the rain, the steady beat of his heart against your back, and the temporary, hard-won peace of the dark.
Eren mistakenly took his new lab partner for being quiet, only to discover she was so much more than that.
⟡ content: eren jaeger x female reader, college au, mutual pining, fluffy and smutty af, explicit language, explicit sexual content, alcohol, reader discretion advised. 18+
⟡ word count: ~13k
⟡ rewritten and reposted for my new blog | read on ao3
It was the honest-to-God truth when Eren said he wasn’t trying to catch feelings for anyone. But then you came along. Unexpectedly, inexplicably, but surprisingly, not all at once.
You were harmless enough—nothing more than his quiet lab partner in anatomy. Truth be told, he didn’t know what to think of you, other than your tendency to keep to yourself. On the rare occasion you spoke up, you kept your words brief, always pertinent to whatever assignment was at hand. But more days than not, you’d only address Eren with a cursory nod, just when he’d take his seat beside you. Sometimes you couldn’t even bother to look up from your textbook to acknowledge him properly.
So, Eren treated you the same. He brought the bare minimum to your conversations. One-word answers. A specific grunt for ‘yes,’ and another for ‘no’—each you had to learn on your own. Between lecture and lab and studying, Eren often wondered if the semester would go by faster if he had a lab partner who wasn’t such a drag. At the very least, it’d be nice to have one that would talk to him.
He couldn’t help but wonder why you were, for lack of a better word, like that. Cold. Standoffish. Withdrawn. He had a few theories in mind—only because lectures were that boring—the most probable being that you were just shy. That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?
Perhaps you were the type of student who took her classes way too seriously. He guessed you to be in your third year, like him. Maybe you were trying to get into a competitive graduate program. Or maybe you just really liked anatomy. Eren supposed that’d make sense. You seemed to like the textbook an awful lot, always reading far too closely in the way nerds do in cartoons. But there were other times when it was almost as if you were avoiding looking him in the eye.
There were days—usually when Eren was feeling particularly disgruntled—that your quietness irked him. He knew it was irrational to care so much, but damn it, why were you like that? And all the time, too. You must be stuck up. What else could he blame your perpetually cold shoulder on? He wasn’t proud of it, but sometimes he believed you were a bitch. Simple as that.
Eren’s theories could go on and on, but none of them were true. Well, you didn’t think you were a bitch. No, the reason behind your reserved attitude was much more straightforward than that.
You had a stupid crush on Eren.
A girlish, twirling-your-hair-around-your-finger crush. The kind that made your stomach somehow feel both hollow and full, and had you gushing to your roommate even though you knew you’d never act on any of this.
You’d felt this way since last semester, in another class you had together. You didn’t think Eren remembered that; you still weren’t sure he even knew of your existence until your professor partnered up the two of you.
God. Thinking about that day made you prickle with anxiety all over again. When it happened, you swore you were going to die. Like, actually keel over from a heart attack in the middle of class and die.
You liked to think there was another universe out there in which you’d feel thrilled to have such forced proximity to your crush. Maybe he’d even give you his number to text him about homework, and in that other universe, you’d be absolutely giddy over it.
But that was not the case, because in this universe, anatomy was far from your strong suit. Very, very far.
You drove yourself mad over all the ways you’d inevitably embarrass yourself in front of Eren, lab after lab. It terrified you, even to the point where you wouldn’t dare ask a question out of fear of sounding dumb. So you made do with what you had, pressed on without asking him to repeat himself, and scribbled down what little you could manage.
It was despicable. Truly despicable, and you knew it, and still you pretended like Eren wasn’t there because that felt easier. Even if it meant you started seeing your grade slip.
You hoped to keep that—and your crush—a secret from him, but one day, he got a little too nosy for your liking.
The professor handed back your lab report face down, like always. You knew professors did that for everyone, no matter the grade, but you couldn’t help but feel it was done specifically for you.
You didn’t want to, but you forced yourself to peel back the corner and take a peek. Unsurprisingly, a lousy grade met you on the other side. Again.
For someone wanting to hide their score, you weren’t as careful as you should have been when sliding the paper into your folder. Eren leaned back in his seat, just far enough to steal a glimpse over your shoulder. For research, obviously. If you liked anatomy so much, then you must be pretty good at the subject. That would fit in well with your stuffy attitude, wouldn’t it?
But what Eren saw surprised him, especially when he considered his own soaring grade. On his chuckle, he let slip, “Wow. Are you even writing anything down?”
You startled, slamming your folder shut. “Huh?”
You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He was, but it didn’t come across nearly as lighthearted as he hoped. Eren often let his thoughts spew into words he shouldn’t say, but you didn’t know about that nasty habit of his. All you were thinking was shit, shit, shit. He had finally figured out that you had no clue what you were doing.
Eren saw the panic as it spread across your face. He cracked a small smile at you, perhaps for the first time, as if it would help. Still, his eyebrows furrowed with a sort of pity he couldn’t hold back.
“The lab.” He pointed to the crumpled paper, half in the folder, half poking out. You tucked it away entirely to hide the grade for the rest of eternity. “We do them together every week. How are you screwing them up that badly?”
What kind of question was that? You gave him a hard frown and regretted thinking he’d be anything more than curt toward you. Even with the pity brows, you weren’t feeling much sympathy from him.
You replied with a blank stare, imagining how horribly this moment would torment you the second your head hit your pillow tonight—and for all nights to come, probably.
You only snapped out of it when you heard his chair drag against the tile. He sighed, a little too loudly to consider it natural, and started packing his things into his book bag.
“Look,” Eren started to say. He glanced up at you once he’d zipped his bag shut, and it made you flighty. “You don’t have to be stuck with a shitty grade. There’s still time left in the semester. I bet I can help.”
His voice was flat, and you didn’t care for his delivery much, but beneath that, there was a glint of sincerity. You weren’t sure where it came from, and frankly, neither did Eren. He regretted being so thoughtless with his words. It was hard not to after seeing the way your face—always so stoic he’d think you were made of marble—turned so sullen. He didn’t like how it made him feel, less so knowing you could pull such a visceral reaction from him.
“You still have my number, yeah?” Eren asked.
You nodded. You did, in fact, still have his phone number, scratched into the first page of your notebook. He wrote it down after your first class together, just like you hoped he would. You decided not to do anything with it. You didn’t even save it to your phone to prevent any possibility of a stupid, drunken text.
“Good,” he said. “We can meet up sometime to study together.”
“Okay, yeah. Thanks,” you said, quietly at first, but your confidence grew with each word when you realized this might not have to go down as one of your top ten most humiliating memories.
“Sure.” Eren stood and swung his bag over his shoulder. He smiled at you again, real this time, big enough to make your stomach flop. “I can’t let my lab partner flunk out on me.”
So, that was where it began—‘it’ referring to you and Eren occasionally studying together. Nothing more. Definitely not the fun sort of studying—you know, like having him study your anatomy rather than the pictures in his textbook. Oh, well. You could still dream.
It took about two study sessions before you didn’t feel you were on the edge of your seat around Eren. As lame as it sounded, he made you incredibly nervous—much more nervous than you felt around him in class, and you didn’t even think that was possible.
Just like in class, you tried your very hardest to keep your eyes on your text. But as shameful as it was to admit, you occasionally snuck a glance. Only when you were certain he wouldn’t notice, because if he did, you knew you’d turn into a pile of goo before you could even look away.
You’d catch him while he was jotting something down because you liked how he looked when he was pensive. His dark brows would sit low over his eyes, and his bottom lip would jut out ever so slightly. And sometimes, only when he was completely stumped, he’d run his fingers through his hair in thought. You liked that a lot, too.
By the time midterms had come and gone, you were seeing Eren more and more—at least twice a week outside of class, maybe a third time if you had a lab report due. By then, it was impossible to let your heart continue to flutter every time you looked him in the eyes. Otherwise, it was bound to give out.
What you wanted to be study dates (emphasis on ‘dates’) quickly became what felt like tutoring lessons—and just to be clear, you were not the tutor. After Eren convinced you his willingness to help was genuine, you didn’t worry as much about sounding dumb. He never seemed bothered when he had to explain a topic, even if you went overboard with the questions.
Though he did like to poke fun at you for your frequent mix-ups and mispronunciations. But you made sure to never let him live down spelling ‘brain’ as ‘brian.’
“It was one time,” he’d always complain back.
After being scolded one too many times for goofing off in the library, you had to make do with other spots around campus, like in a cafe or even out on the green. Other times, especially as the weather began to cool, you’d meet Eren at his place, just a five-minute jaunt from campus.
He lived in a house with three other boys: Armin, Jean, and Connie. You found Jean and Connie to be nice enough based on the handful of conversations you had with them. Despite that, Eren blamed them for the reason you didn’t study at his house often, accusing them of being too distracting to think straight. You didn’t necessarily agree, but hey, you weren’t the one who had to live with them.
Eren would never tell you this—hell, he couldn’t think of a single person he’d say this aloud to—but the real reason he didn’t like to study at his place was Armin.
Eren’s blonde best friend for the last ten years. His roommate, whom you would describe as cute as a button and sharp as a tack. Armin knew much more about anatomy than you and Eren (maybe even combined) and liked to join in when he was bored, answering the questions that Eren couldn’t.
Eren couldn’t pinpoint exactly why this bothered him so much. He always knew Armin was smarter than him; that had never been a problem before. Now, it bothered him to no end. But rather than deal with it head-on, Eren decided studying at your apartment was the better solution. Your roommate, Hitch, was tolerable enough.
It was around finals week when it happened. A healthy dose of reality, served as a smack straight across your face. A reminder that you still had a big fat crush on Eren. When your frequent study dates became less of a one-on-one thing and more like a group hangout.
You were cordial, something between classmates and acquaintances, with the few classmates sitting near you. One girl, Mina, said that she, Thomas, and Samuel planned to get together to prepare for the upcoming exam. She insisted that you and Eren should join.
You didn’t respond right away. You couldn’t, not with the way your heart sank into your stomach when Eren answered for you.
“She needs all the help she can get,” Eren replied with a playful pat on your shoulder. He was only joking, but you wished he didn’t sound so eager. You especially wished his hand, so innocently placed on your back, didn’t make your cheeks burn.
You did your best to get over it quickly. It was hard to stay bitter at people you got along with, so much so that you’d accomplish more chatting than studying. Luckily for the rest of you, Eren and Thomas knew enough to help you skate by.
But when Eren started texting in the new group chat more than he’d text you, you couldn’t ignore the sting. It felt as though you’d let your chances with him slip by because next semester he wouldn’t be your lab partner anymore. He might not even talk to you again; he’d have no reason to.
You left the final exam feeling okay at best. You walked out with your head down, not paying attention as Mina caught up from behind. She invited you to come by her apartment that Friday—something about your classmates getting together to celebrate the end of Anatomy pop quizzes. You didn’t give it a second thought when you agreed.
You were at the get-together for maybe an hour, maybe longer, when someone was drunk enough to suggest a game of Never Have I Ever. You’d just thrown away your second beer and felt just adventurous enough to play.
Mina’s living room was too small for hosting, but most of your places were. That didn’t stop her from decorating for the holiday season. With everyone crowded around, the strings of lights cast a colorful but warm glow against everyone’s faces. In the center of the ragged circle, some people sat on the floor, some on the sofa, was an old beer. According to Samuel, it was left out overnight chugging it would serve as punishment for putting the last of your fingers down.
You didn’t know it then, but that beer had your name written all over it.
You sat on the floor, legs folded to your chest, with your hand growing tired in the air. Only your index finger remained standing when Mina shouted it was her turn.
“Never have I ever had a body count higher than five,” she announced.
A few people put a finger down, but you knew it didn’t matter. You dropped your forehead to your knees in defeat and let your hand slump to your side. Everyone was laughing, hounding you to drink the beer, when you whined, “Do I have to?”
If you hadn’t been so busy downing that lukewarm can, pouting as you went—if your audience wasn’t so loud as they heckled you, maybe you would have noticed how Eren went quiet. How a firm crease formed between his brows the longer he watched.
Eren didn’t know what he was feeling. Something sour. Something like the feeling he got when he saw you laugh with Armin. It made him not want to look at you because the sight alone made his stomach tight, but he couldn’t stop.
Your body count didn’t offend him. After all, he had to put a finger down for the same reason. Though he had to admit, you surprised him (it was always the quiet ones, wasn’t it?) but that wasn’t new. The more he learned about you, the more he realized his assumptions about you couldn’t have been more wrong—especially the ones about you being a bitch and good at anatomy.
Eren studied you from across the cramped room. Your nose crinkled, giggles spilling from you as you tried, for the second time, to finish the beer. He’d heard your laugh before. Many times, actually. But tonight, he found the sound captivatingly warm. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he felt his chest flutter.
His thoughts drifted further and further, recklessly so, until he found himself wondering if you’d crinkle your nose just the same if he made you come.
Right then, he could see you underneath him. Naked. Your face twisted in pleasure, brows pinched cutely as your teeth dipped into your swollen bottom lip. He swore he could feel your thighs under his palms, soft and giving beneath them as he pulled down your—
It was so wrong of him. Wrong to be in a room full of people and pretend as if you were the only two people to exist.
That swarming in his gut grew hotter. He took another sip of his beer as if it would dull the burn.
Eren doubted himself into a downward spiral. Almost like a hangnail, he picked and picked at the thought until he created an open wound of his own making. What was so wrong with him that you weren’t interested?
He could deny naming the sick feeling as much as he wanted, but Eren knew what it was: insecurity. Jealous of people he didn’t even know, for no other reason than he had the chance to be with you in the ways he so desperately craved, to where he felt doubled over sick.
He felt fucking pathetic for it.
Eren didn’t stay at the party long after that. You left just before midnight and didn’t think of that game, or Eren, for the rest of the weekend. And on Monday, you were up bright and early to check your final grade for anatomy. By some miracle, you passed the class.
It was well into winter break when you saw Eren again. You bumped into him at a house party, when there was about a week left until classes started and everyone was trickling back to campus to celebrate the new year.
You didn’t expect to see him again this soon, but then again, you weren’t so sure you’d ever see him again. Anatomy class was the glue that held you together. You wished you could say you had more confidence in your budding friendship, in Eren, but he hadn’t talked to you since Mina’s party. You thought he at least felt some sort of stake in knowing if you passed the class.
You told yourself it was better off this way, considering you nearly failed your lab because of him. Well, technically speaking, you passed because of him, but you wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place if he wasn’t your lab partner.
All that bullshit for a silly crush.
You stumbled into Eren toward the end of the night, when parties start feeling spacey and liminal, between night and day. A couple of lights were on now, and whoever was in charge of the music had clearly given up long ago. It was all pointing to a not-so-subtle hint to get out.
And you wanted nothing more than to get out. You would have been out of there thirty minutes ago if it weren’t for Hitch. Your loveable, yet self-admittedly ditzy roommate had disappeared into thin air.
By the time you began searching for her, you’d already drunk well past your limit. You were left dizzy, starving, and having poked your head into every room and around every corner. No Hitch, but you did find lots of dry humping.
The last time you saw Hitch, she was one of those dry humpers. She was on top of some guy who you figured was the reason she even wanted to come to this party. You were sure you’d catch his name tomorrow morning.
You were too distracted, too bubbly from the leftover New Year’s champagne to see what was right in front of you—even if he was rather tall, broad, and hard to miss. You didn’t even look twice as you walked past him. He only grabbed your attention after calling your name, but you only felt disappointed that the voice was too deep to belong to Hitch.
You spun around and the floor tilted with you. It took you a step or two to straighten back out, and when you did, your vision settled on Eren.
He gave you a lop-sided smile, serving as nothing more than a hesitant greeting. He only made it more awkward by throwing in a cheeky, “Long time, no see.”
You returned the gesture by offering a chuckle that was only half-forced. The other half was genuine simply because it was easy to impress anyone after a night spent drinking.
And since you had spent the night drinking, you felt all weird when you looked at Eren. It wasn’t that you were upset with him—maybe disappointed, but it wasn’t exactly with him. Eren never owed you his kindness, and going out of his way to help you study was more than you could have asked for. You’d say you were disappointed with what could have been.
But now that he was here, getting shoved closer and closer with every passerby, you didn’t know what to think other than you should have skipped out on that last drink. You hoped you’d feel more put together the next time you saw Eren so you wouldn’t get tangled up in again. You weren’t confident you’d be able to unravel yourself a second time.
Eren took a willing step toward you and recognized the familiar haze of booze in your eyes. He realized you weren’t going to say anything, so he’d have to do the heavy-lifting.
“Were you looking for someone?”
“Hitch,” you said. There was a pause where you weren’t sure he remembered he knew her. “My roommate.”
“I know.”
“We were supposed to get food, but I think she took a guy home,” you told him for no reason in particular. “The last time this happened, I walked in on them doing it on the kitchen counter.”
Eren laughed, harder once your face winced at the memory, a sight seared into your brain, for sure. “You should really consider finding a new roommate.”
“And in the meantime?”
“You come back to my place,” he said, so casually that you were positive you didn’t hear him right. Your face must have given you away, and he tried to brush it off with a shrug. “What’s the big deal? You’ve slept on my couch before.”
He was right. You’d fallen asleep on his couch while studying once. He teased you about it—said you got drool everywhere.
“That’s different,” you sheepishly said. “That was an accident.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place,” he teased.
“Maybe you shouldn’t make your flashcards so boring!”
Eren liked his simple flashcards. He preferred them. Not everyone needed to spend more time highlighting and color-coding flashcards than actually studying them.
He tilted his head in a look that said Quit being so stubborn for once but relented. “Fine. Then how about you tell me how to make them look nicer on the way back to my house. I was just about to leave, anyway.”
He took a daring step backward. Then another, until he turned on one foot and headed toward the door. He knew you’d follow him, and so thoughtlessly, you did. You stayed just behind as you meandered through the house and out the front door.
You called out after him, “You don’t really need them now, do you? The class is over.”
“I just thought you might need ‘em.” Eren bounded down the porch steps and tossed a glance over his shoulder, just to catch the look on your face when he said, “Since you’re going to be retaking the class.”
You wished you’d shoved him down the steps, but he was already across the lawn, you trailing him. He walked with longer strides and didn’t seem concerned about whether you could keep up.
“Thanks for that,” you grumbled.
“Anytime.”
It didn’t take long before the two of you were close to campus. You walked along the main drag, lined with various bars and late-night bites that thrived in the college town’s nightlife. The liveliness made it difficult to tell time; it could be ten p.m. or two a.m., and you wouldn’t know the difference. Every bar kept its music loud enough to thrum in your chest, beating perfectly in tempo with each of your steps—those of which were still fighting to keep up with Eren.
He didn’t even bother looking back at you when he asked, “Do you still want to get food?”
“Hm?” You couldn’t hear him over your shuffling along the sidewalk. Your feet had already started aching hours ago, and this certainly wasn’t helping. You really shouldn’t have worn your new shoes without breaking them in.
“You never listen, do you?” Eren didn’t say it with annoyance but with a laugh. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this far.”
“I listen just fine. You just mumble a lot,” you defended. “And for your information, I am not retaking Anatomy. I passed with a C.”
“C plus or C minus?”
“Plus,” you said with inflated, drunken confidence.
“I’ll alert the media,” Eren deadpanned. You stuck your tongue out at him even though he wouldn’t see it. “Now tell me, did you still want to get food or not?”
“I didn’t think it was still an option.”
“‘Course it is.” He finally looked back at you, nearly skipping to keep up with him now, just in time to catch your trip over a sidewalk crack. “I think you could probably use something to eat.”
When you were about to round the corner onto his street, Eren stopped short a few doors down at an unassuming 24-hour diner. You weren’t expecting to stop and sit down but to flag down a street vendor. Though you had to admit, breakfast sounded wonderful.
Eren picked the booth in the back after you were instructed to seat yourselves. The place was small and smelt of pancake batter and stale coffee—just as any diner should at this hour. And stale or not, you knew you needed a few mugs to sober up.
The waitress flipped your ceramic mug upright and filled it to the brim. If it were nine in the morning, steam would pour out, and it would look like a movie. But it was not nine in the morning, and you did not want to know how long this coffee had sat out.
You took it with cream, then dumped some sugar in, too. Reaching for a second packet, you caught Eren staring as you tore it open, his hands folded around his mug.
“Is something the matter?” you asked.
“Want any coffee with your sugar?”
“Ha-ha.” You added the sugar, now out of spite. When you took your first sip, it tasted as bitter as you’d imagined.
Now that you were off your feet, the pain gnawed at you. You wiggled your shoes down, just enough for your heels to slip free from the backs. But it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t bear to keep them for another second—the diner was empty, anyway. Once they were off, your feet pulsed as if they had their own heartbeat.
The waitress took your order before disappearing again, only making rounds to offer a warm-up here or there, which you gladly accepted. Eren didn’t make a peep when you added another packet of sugar this time. During the lapse in conversation, you kept your head low and fiddled with the loose scraps of paper. You didn’t even remember what you were thinking about when Eren eventually spoke.
“You know,” he started to say. You peered up from the wadded paper you’d been rolling between your fingers. He leaned back in the booth and looked out the frosted window with a quiet chuckle. “I thought you hated me when we first met.”
You matched his laugh, yours more disbelieving. “Hated you? I don’t think I knew you well enough to hate you.”
As if he were thinking out loud, he said, “You were always so quiet.”
“Being quiet doesn’t mean you hate someone,” you explained.
His eyes flicked from the window to you. “Then what does it mean?”
It was easier to talk to him when he wasn’t looking directly at you. His gaze felt smothering. You retreated your gaze down to the spool you swirled around your coffee. The soft banging against the ceramic was the only sound between you and Eren because you still didn’t know how to answer him.
“I don’t know,” you said, hoping you would have come up with a more profound answer by now. “It just means you’re quiet, I guess.”
A short stack of pancakes interrupted Eren, slid right between the two of you, decorated with a gooey scoop of butter. Eren only ordered coffee even after you said you’d pay. And once the server dropped off the syrup and scurried away again, Eren was quick to jump back into the conversation, much to your dismay.
“But you’re not quiet, and you’re not shy either,” he said like he’d caught you in a lie. You urged him on with a raised eyebrow. He scoffed. “Don’t give me that. I know that’s not you. I saw you dancing tonight with Hitch.”
Your hand stalled as you reached for the syrup. “You watched me dance?”
His eyes widened, but he played it off well enough when he said, “I mean, yeah. My so-called quiet lab partner actually knows how to dance? It just surprised me, that’s all.”
“If you saw me earlier, why didn’t you come and say hi?”
Strike that. Eren almost played it off. He tensed up, noticeably so, and it took him longer than he would have liked to come up with his pathetic excuse of, “Oh, I think someone grabbed me for a game of beer pong or something. I couldn’t find you after.”
That never happened. Eren knew it, and he was pretty sure you knew it, too. The truth was that Eren didn’t go up and talk to you because he’d spent the last few weeks convincing himself he wasn’t into you.
He went as far as reinstalling his dating apps, all of which he had long sworn off. He naively assumed that if he just went on a date, maybe even brought a girl home, then he would be in the clear; he wouldn’t think of you anymore. Easy-peasy. But by the time dinner was through, Eren could hardly remember a single thing his date had said. He was too busy comparing her to you, even when he didn’t mean to, and felt disappointed every time she laughed because it sounded nothing like yours.
Then he saw you tonight. Of course, he had to see you tonight. And out of everything you could have been doing, you were dancing. Having fun, enjoying yourself. He favored you like that, when you were carefree. You were nothing like the girl he thought he’d met in lecture.
And when he heard your laugh—more remarkable than all the others, like he’d strangely gone deaf to anything and anyone but you—he couldn’t remember why he was trying so hard to stay away from you.
Now you were here, seated across the booth from him, cheeks stuffed with pancakes, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He had spent the entire walk here wrangling with himself, scared that if he had you, even in the most innocent of ways, he wouldn’t be able to get enough.
Eren knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this because—fuck, what if you still didn’t want him in return?
He only lied about beer pong because he couldn’t outrightly confess to needing a drink before talking to you. He was so close to getting away with it, too. If you’d gone for another bite a second earlier, if he’d thought to take a sip of coffee to hide his face, maybe you wouldn’t have spotted the flushed bridge of his nose. So subtle, yet telling enough that you had to bite your inner lip to prevent a smile.
You held your fork before your face, inspecting the pancake as syrup dripped back onto the plate, purposefully flippant about it as you finally said to Eren, “It’s because I had a crush on you.”
“Huh?”
You plopped the pancake into your mouth, chewing so thoughtfully that it nearly killed Eren. After you swallowed, you said, “I had a crush on you. That’s why I was so quiet.”
He didn’t say another word, even with you staring him square in the face, expectant. It obviously flustered him. You laughed softly, just through your nose, then said, “That, and you always got better grades than me. I didn’t want you to think I was dumb.”
Eren didn’t hear the second half of what you said; he was still fixed on the first. “Do you still?”
You knew what he was asking, but you played obtuse. “Still what?”
“Have a crush on me.”
You mulled it over while you went for another bite, eyes on him like he already had the answer. He did. You both did. Still, you let the question hang heavy between you. You weren’t quite ready to lay your cards on the table just yet.
You tossed him a flick of a smile when you answered, “To be determined.”
He nodded once, lips folded in a similar sort of smile. “Got it.”
You were satisfied with that, but Eren wasn’t. He watched while you took another sip of coffee before reaching for another packet of sugar. Before you could dump it in, he shielded your mug with his hand.
“But you better figure out an answer before all that sugar kills you,” he said.
You swatted him away. “Yeah, it’ll definitely be the sugar that kills me and not the keg stand I started the night with.”
“You did a keg stand?”
He said it as if he didn’t believe you. You giggled, “Only because Hitch talked me into it.”
Eren laughed with you despite the shaking of his head. “See, what did I say? You surprise me.”
You had only hobbled a few feet out of the diner before your heels started hurting again. You sucked your teeth in pain, only made worse by another step. You had noted two fresh blisters on your heels when you slid your shoes back on, but you hoped they wouldn’t be a hassle since the walk to Eren’s was short. Now, all you wanted was to still be drunk enough to feel numb.
“Everything okay back there?” Eren asked.
You were behind him again, but not because of his pace.
“Yeah,” you said. Eren thought it unconvincing, and you confirmed his hunch when he noticed you stumbling in the corner of his eye. “It’s my shoes. I’m sorry.”
He stopped walking and turned to you. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just take ‘em off.”
“I’m not just going to walk barefoot.”
“Didn’t say you had to.”
You didn’t seem to understand what he was implying, even less so when he gave you his back and bent slightly at the knee.
He could not be serious right now.
“My house is just a few more blocks away. I’ll carry you.”
Okay. He was actually serious. Eren was about to give you a piggyback ride.
You didn’t intend to laugh, but it was only because this situation was so ridiculous—and partly because of your own anxiety, fizzling at the thought alone.
Eren took it differently, shooting you a comically offended look when he said, “What? You think I can’t carry you?” He straightened tall, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began walking away. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
“Wait!”
You wanted to blame it on your feet or say you didn’t want to slow him down, but you had to be honest with yourself: were you really going to pass up this opportunity?
Eren flashed you a smile over his shoulder. “That’s what I thought.”
You ignored his boasting and began removing your shoes. He took them from you with one hand, then let you hop onto his back. His body didn’t give like you expected, and his arms were sturdy as they looped around your thighs.
You hadn’t had a piggyback ride since you were probably eleven years old, but you could say with certainty that you didn’t remember it feeling like this. Eren’s neck was warm against your arms in the crisp night air. His hands were even hotter; you thought they might sear into the backs of your thighs.
Eren jostled you forward, higher onto his back. He warned, “Hold on tighter, or else you’re gonna fall off.”
You hugged him, your chest pressing into his back. You’d never been this close to him before. His hair, only loosely tied back now, brushed against your face. His cologne was faint—warm like amber, but there was something refreshing that tickled your nose. You drew closer to him, inhaling the scent.
Eren worried you felt the roll of his throat when your breath broke over the nape of his neck. How embarrassing that something as childish as a piggyback ride could send his heart racing. Suddenly, he was back in junior high, and it was his first time holding a girl’s hand.
If this was all he’d have of you tonight, he’d be happy. Delighted. Even if it meant he’d end up waking up with a sore back. He wanted to earn back your crush, even if he wasn’t so sure it ever truly went away.
Eren set you down on his porch and fished for his keys in his back pocket. Once inside, the house was blackout dark. You stilled in the entryway, entirely unaware of your surroundings but listening as Eren walked ahead.
Not a second later, Eren flipped on a light from the other room. It was bright enough to hurt your eyes at first, but at least you could see the floor now.
Eren stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He wore a look of trepidation, staring at you like you were some scared little puppy he’d rescued.
“Can I get you some water?” he asked.
“Sure. Thank you.”
Eren gestured toward the sofa and offered a clunky, “Make yourself at home,” before disappearing around the corner.
You’d hardly made yourself comfortable (if that was even possible in this situation) before he returned. You didn’t even realize how rigid your joints were until you had to uncross your arms and reach for the water bottle Eren handed you.
You wouldn’t call the feeling anxiety. It was more like anticipation. The ‘will they or won’t they?’ moment of the night.
Eren sat on the opposite side of the old couch, and it squeaked beneath his weight. “I imagine you wouldn’t want to sleep on the couch in a house full of guys,” he said as he settled into the cushions. “Take my room, if you want. I’m fine sleeping out here.”
You nearly choked on your water. “I’m not going to take your bed.” You couldn’t, possibly. You didn’t think you’d even seen his room before. “You didn’t even need to go through the trouble of letting me stay the night.”
“Out of all my troubles,” Eren said with a certain warmth to his face, discernible in the lowest of lights, “you staying the night is the least of them.”
You smiled at him.
You smiled at him, and you had not the slightest inclination how deeply it tugged at his heart. The smile was shy, no greater than a curl of the corners of your mouth, yet Eren desired nothing more than to memorize the shape of it underneath his lips.
“Okay,” you finally agreed. You could have ended it there, and you probably should have, but his unreadable gaze had you skittish and rambly. “But, really, if it’s too much—if you want me to go, I can call a—”
“I don’t want you to go.”
You stammered, pretending you had something, anything, to say. Something changed, but you couldn’t say what. There was a shift in energy, a new glint to his eyes—in the look he was giving you.
Maybe it would be more accurate to say that everything had changed.
There wasn’t much air in your voice when you said, “I don’t want to go, either.”
Your admission was barely a whisper. So delicate and saccharine that Eren wasn’t even sure you intended to say it aloud. Your eyes went big and genuine, as if you had revealed some secret you’d been holding onto for who knew how long.
He had the same look on his face, like he barely clung onto what little composure you hadn’t stolen from him yet. You liked seeing him like that—such an unguarded expression on a face that was normally hardened. Eyes soft and electric, all at once. You never thought he’d look at you in such a way, and you didn’t want it to end.
Now or never.
“Eren?”
“Yeah?” His voice sounded just as taken as yours.
Eren knew you as anything but bold, but right then, you were incredibly so. Purring your words when you asked him, “Why are you always so nice to me?”
The distant light from the kitchen cast shadows along the angles of his jaw, highlighting how it tensed. “Am I?”
You nodded. Slowly.
“How so?”
“You know,” you said knowingly. You stretched your leg across the couch, languid, inching closer to him until you had it draped over his lap as if you’d done it a million times before. “You walk me home when I’m drunk. Carry me when my feet hurt.” You nudged your foot beneath his hand, encouraging him to place it atop your leg. “You let me spend the night and even offer me your bed.”
You felt oh so courageous now, but you knew you’d regret the shenanigans the next time you saw Eren on campus. You could already see the smug smile he’d give you from across the hall or from the far side of the green—wherever you’d inevitably run into him next. You would turn into a puddle right on the spot.
But none of that mattered tonight. You heard him stifle the groan at the back of his throat as your foot grazed over the front of his pants, and you needed to hear it again.
“Not to mention,” you retracted your leg, sat back onto your calves, and leaned into him, giggling, “you tutored me in anatomy for an entire semester without complaining once.”
He looked from the hand you’d rested on his leg to your face. You were so close, knees bumping against the side of his thigh. He wanted to keep you there, he thought, as his hand cupped your cheek. You tried your best not to melt into him.
“I think I might have complained once,” Eren said with a smile in his voice. His thumb traced over your skin. “But I can’t help myself. You’re very cute when you’re drunk and when you’re proud after passing a quiz.” He unexpectedly grinned. “And when you hold your textbook too close to your face when you read.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do.”
You pulled a face but didn’t argue any further. You couldn’t, not with how close you were to him now, the tips of your noses nearly brushing. He still held your face as he swiped his thumb along your bottom lip. You wetted them, wanting a taste.
Yes, you’d found yourselves here, but neither of you wanted to be the first to crumble the wall you’d spend an entire semester building together. One so tall that there were times you couldn’t see over it.
Eren caressed your face. You moved with him, tilting in until your forehead pressed against his, and you could feel his breath on your lips when you told him, “I think I still have a crush on you.”
“Yeah. I know.” He wasn’t his usual cocky self about it. He sounded soft; he was relieved.
Your hand traveled up his thigh, and you felt the muscles twitch as you went. He wondered if you had any idea what you were doing to him—how insane you’d driven him. You had to.
“So,” you said, long and drawn-out. Your hand palmed over the tent in his jeans. He was hard. Much harder than you’d expect from some harmless flirting. “Are you going to do something about it?”
“Fuck,” Eren muttered under his breath. “C’mere.”
His hand slipped into your hair, fingers curling around the back of your head to pull you to him. What you thought would be a crash of lips was much more affectionate. Instead of kissing you as if he believed he could make up for lost time, he kissed you like he knew he had all the time in the world with you, finally.
Eren’s lips were soft, every movement thoughtful as he coaxed apart your lips. His tongue was hot and licking against your own and made your head spin. You snatched a fistful of his shirt in some vain attempt at grounding yourself, but the longer he made out with you, taking his time with no destination in mind, the more helpless you became.
“Eren.”
It left you in a gasp. A moan he could swallow up before it met the air.
Either he didn’t hear you or he ignored it. He angled your head slightly, exposing your neck for him to explore. He kissed the corner of your mouth and down your jaw until you felt his lips at the hollow below your ear.
“Eren,” you repeated, louder this time, more needily, because he’d begun kissing at your pulse point.
“Hm?” he hummed, unbothered. Oblivious to how desperately turned on you were, how just his teeth skimming the delicate skin of your neck had your thighs clenching.
“That’s why you didn’t want me to leave, right?” you said between heavy breaths. You let your eyes flutter shut as you felt him suck just above your collarbone, where he’d surely leave a bruise.
You rubbed your hand where you could feel his cock straining beneath the zipper of his jeans. When his breathing faltered, you reached to undo the button.
“Because you’ve thought about this before,” you murmured. With his jeans opened, you snuck a hand below his boxers and wrapped your hand around his cock. “Because you were hoping this would happen.” You nuzzled your face into his neck, peppering kisses of your own, noting his quickening pulse as you began stroking him, base to tip. “Because you couldn’t help yourself.”
“Yes,” Eren groaned. He would have tried harder to hold it back, but his patience was already waning as he staved off his urge to rut into your hand.
“I’ve thought about it, too,” you confessed.
That broke him. Before you knew it—before he knew it—he had you pinned between him and the couch.
Your back hit the cushion with another whine from the springs, louder and more obnoxious than the one earlier. When Eren kissed you again, he was no longer taking his time. Because you were right, he couldn’t help himself. Not around you, at least, and not after hearing you wanted him in the same ways he needed you.
It wasn’t long before the couch became too cramped for your liking, limbs slipping and spilling until you thought you might fall onto the floor. Only when your head dangling off the couch forced your lips to separate did you have a minute to catch your breath—or at least try to.
“You said,” you panted, collecting yourself. “You said I could sleep in your room. Maybe you could show it to me now…”
Eren felt hazy, brain short-circuiting for the obvious reason, but your implication was just heavy-handed enough for him to catch on.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He helped you upright, fumbling around one another, climbing the stairs in a clumsy hurry until you were tripping over your own feet because you couldn’t imagine keeping your hands off each other for even a second.
Behind his closed bedroom door, Eren’s hands became reckless as they pawed over your body, anywhere they could. You could feel the desperation, the firmness in his touch that made you weak in the knees and struggle to suppress your whispers. Each tiny sound encouraged him, riling him up further until he had you braced against the wall.
His forearms, planted on either side of you, kept you caged in place, but you would have stayed there for him more than willingly. Forever, if you could. His mouth on yours was commanding enough that he could take you with him wherever he pleased.
You hated yourself for getting more turned on at just the thought.
Taking him by his loose, unzipped jeans, you tugged him close and hooked a leg around his waist. His cock pressed between your legs, and you ground against him because if you didn’t, you swore you might explode. You were only human, after all.
And, God, Eren wanted to give you everything you wanted—everything he had. There was a part of him that wanted to make you wait, maybe even beg for him, but like you, he was also only human.
When he pulled back from your kiss, chest rising and falling with each labored breath, he could only tell you, “Bed.”
With a bobble of your head, you repeated, “Bed,” and separated.
Eren went to turn on his bedside lamp, and you figured it time to shed from your tight clothes. You didn’t think he’d be able to easily get you out of your top. After all, Hitch had to help you into it.
The lamp cast a low, almost orange glow, but it was enough to make you feel keenly aware of his gaze on you as you peeled off your shirt. It bunched as you snaked it over your head, its slinky fabric hugging your body and revealing your bra with a subtle bounce of your tits. Every part of it, of you, was so shamefully sexy. Eren couldn’t get enough.
As you went to take off your jeans, Eren neared you in a step. His hands closed over yours as if to tell you Let me do it. You watched silently as he opened the front of your jeans, his hands curving around your hips and shimmying the fitted denim down your legs. Once they fell and pooled at your ankles, you kicked them aside. All the while, Eren kissed down the crook of your neck, the spot he learned you liked, especially when he sucked there.
Freed from the constraints of your night-out clothes, you pushed back from him and let yourself collapse onto his bed. You sprawled out with a stretch of your back. It felt so wonderful to lie against the billowy comforter, to finally be off your feet. You nestled around, relaxing like you could have lulled off right then—almost.
The little sound you gave, a sweet moan of relief you didn’t even realize you’d let slip, made Eren’s cock twitch before he could even touch you. The sight of you, ready and beneath him, had him overwhelmed, to say the least. He didn’t know where to look—he didn’t even know where to start.
His fingertips, though lightly calloused, felt exceedingly gentle as he trailed them along your bare skin. So softly that if you shut your eyes, you might not even know he was there. He started below the underwire of your bra, then down the length of your stomach. He tickled at your hipbone, and you squirmed so cutely beneath him.
How sensitive.
Eren wanted to say something witty, but the sight of you stirring below him had him spacey and quiet. Even the chuckle he gave was hardly audible, just a huff through his nose.
He only faltered when he reached the band of your underwear. In his fleeting lucidity, he blinked, hard, like it would clear away the fog. He stared down at you as if you’d given him a reason to be suspicious.
Before you could ask what was wrong, he spoke first. “How are you?”
You mirrored his suspicion, eyebrows knitting together. “I’m good. Um, how are you?”
His face scrunched, and you thought he was about to say Not good. It made you nervous. You perched on your elbows, interested, waiting for him. He ran his fingers through his hair, as he always did when he was trying really hard to concentrate.
“We’re a little past exchanging pleasantries, don’t you think?” you teased, mainly because you didn’t know what else you were supposed to say.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Eren brought his hand to his head as if he could capture his thoughts before they slipped away. “Like, I mean—” Coherency was out of reach, especially with you laid out in front of him, head tilted with curiosity, staring up at him through pretty, heavy lashes. Had they always been that long?
Finally, he blurted out, “Are you still drunk?”
Oh.
You let out the breath of air you were holding. Thinking over your answer, you took an inventory of every feeling in your body, every fiber of your being only wanting him.
“Not really,” you said with a shrug. “Those pancakes were a real lifesaver.”
Eren still looked hesitant. You took his hand in yours and gave a small squeeze, smiling up at him. “I want this. Like, really, really want this.”
That softened him up, and he gave a short laugh. With your assurance, his fingers began their work again, pulling lightly at your underwear. As he played with the fabric, his once-boyish expression turned more brazen as he asked, “Then is it okay if I touch you here?”
His voice was gruff, the timbre of it still ringing in your ears even after he stopped talking.
“Yes,” you murmured, eyes fixed on him, on his fingers. They pushed past your panties despite your hope that he’d take them off entirely.
That single, breathy word gave Eren the go-ahead to crawl over you. He planted one hand into the mattress to hold himself up, the other traced the crease of your thigh teasingly—but it was more like he was teasing himself. You were still propped on your elbows, close enough to Eren that with a tilt of your head, you were kissing him again.
He glided his fingers between you, tracing your entrance but not dipping any further.
“You’re so wet,” he groaned, still playing with you. He’d circle your clit, just until your jaw went slack, then he’d let up. “All for me?”
“Mhm.” You exhaled indulgently when his fingers returned to rubbing your clit. When you lifted your hips, his circles became tighter, quicker, giving you exactly what you needed. You let go then, allowing your wobbly elbows to give out. Eren chased after you, nipping down your neck and leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat.
Eren, Eren, Eren. Thoughts of him, only him consumed you. Consumed by how good he made you feel and every place you wanted him.
And when you cried, “Ah—all for you,” you certainly weren’t thinking about how desperate you sounded for a guy who’d been nothing more than your lab partner until a couple of hours ago.
That made him snap. In one impulsive motion, Eren stood and hooked his fingers around your underwear, tearing them off with ease. Once they were out of his way and lost amongst your other garments, his hand was rightfully back between your legs.
He pumped his middle finger inside you first, curling it just right and putting an arch in your back. You thought he’d be arrogant about it, how he already had you (quite literally) bending to his will, but he was way past that. He was wholly lost in you, every bit of you. Your tiny gasps spilling from your kiss-swollen lips, your bra and how its straps had limply fallen past your shoulder to expose the supple skin of your chest. How pretty your cunt looked taking his finger.
Eren’s pace ignited that delicious, familiar feeling within you. But just as quickly as it began burning in the lowest part of your stomach, you lost it just as fast.
With a frustrated sob, your eyes snapped open to see why he’d so rudely edged you like that.
Eren tore his shirt over his head and threw it aside—another article of clothing you’d have to sort through later. “I wanna go down on you.”
You felt his words hot at the back of your neck—either that, or it was the sight of his deceivingly toned stomach. Or it was the fact that his words didn’t waver as he spoke so freely to you. Whatever it was, you couldn’t decide before Eren started stripping off his jeans. And if you were still unsure why you’d clammed up, the sight of him hard in his boxers–large and threatening to undo you—was most certainly the reason.
You tried your best to look him in the face when you asked, “Don’t you think we should be fast? All of your roommates are home.”
That was the last thing Eren wanted. He wanted to have you, all to himself, for as long as you’d allow.
But that was easy for him to say now; his willpower had already started waning.
“They’re sleeping. Don’t worry about them.” Eren thumbed soothingly against your inner thigh. It made it difficult to say no to him. At least until he cracked a small, devilish smile. “I thought you said you were quiet.”
The daggers you shot him said enough. You had only started to bite back when Eren shut you up. He leaned over you, shrouded you in his warmth—even warmer was his mouth, his tongue, at your neck, running along the silky skin.
Eren sucked at the lobe of your ear, and the airy giggle you gave traveled right to his cock. He kissed your collarbone as he dragged down the cups of your bra. The feeling of his bedroom air against your perked nipples sent goosebumps scattering across your body. His hot tongue quelled the chill, and you rewarded him with a moan—even louder when he took your nipple into his mouth.
You were so, so sensitive. All for him, too. Eren craved to learn every nook on your body he could kiss and every sound you’d make in response. He wanted to discover every last part of you, especially the ones that would have you wrecked.
The kisses continued down your stomach, with him lowering to his knees on the carpet. Taking your legs, one in each hand, he pulled them back to make room to settle between. He placed your thighs on his shoulders and scooted you in close until your bottom half hung off the side of the bed.
Eren palmed over the tops of your thighs and let the flesh mold to his hands. He left kisses there, too, his lips so close to where you wanted him the most.
“Let me taste you.” His voice was a quiet plea. He pressed kiss against your inner thigh, then another, with his eyes fluttering shut like he wanted to savor you. “Please.”
You must have lost your voice somewhere in your throat. You could only nod a response, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Eren gleamed up at you. He clearly wanted to say something but was smart enough not to risk it this time.
He kissed you first, then gave a flat lap of his tongue against you, just a taste. He licked you slowly, and even that was enough to make you suck a breath in through your clenched teeth.
“Spread your legs wider for me.” You did as you were told and swore you felt him grin against you. “Good girl.”
You made a humiliating sound at that. One you didn’t expect, and Eren definitely didn’t expect either. It excited him, knowing how weak you were to his words. His voice. Him.
With you fully on display for him, Eren couldn’t resist burying his face into you. His tongue darted to your clit, each flick another pulse of electricity at the base of your spine.
You raised your hips to meet his mouth. His tongue remained steady, never letting up as he leaned into a rhythm he thought you might like—one that had you lacing your fingers in his hair.
With a little more time, angling and guiding his tongue to just the right spot, you began seeing white behind your eyelids.
“Eren—ah,” you frantically panted, “right there.”
He had his pointed tongue against your clip, licking in tandem with your rocking hips. When your thighs began shaking, he wrapped his arms around them and locked you into place. Even when you swore it was too much, you couldn’t slip away.
Eren continued having you feverishly, filling the bedroom with a mixture of your wispy cries and groans of his own. He was just as desperate for you to come as you felt, worshipping every squeak and squirm he could get from you.
“Eren, I—”
His eyes landed on yours. Not breaking his pace, he replaced his tongue with his thumb. “You want more?”
You swallowed hard and nodded.
“You want my fingers?” His thumb stilled. You mourned the loss only for him to dip his finger inside you.
“Oh, fuck,” you whined. “Yes.”
He used two fingers this time, collecting his spit and your slick before pumping them in and out of you. He leaned in, gave your clit a few kitten licks, and picked up right where he had left off.
You were getting close, so fucking close, and if time could allow for it, you would have stayed in that feeling forever, just shy of becoming entirely undone.
Admittedly, there were many times when you imagined Eren having his way with you, wondering what it’d be like for him to finger and fuck you. But never did you think he’d want you this way, let alone beg for it. And you couldn’t have possibly imagined how the sight would absolutely ruin you.
Eren’s face, flushed in a blossomy pink that spanned his nose and cheeks, shoved between your thighs, devouring you whole as he stretched you with his fingers. You were so wet; he was wet. Soaked, actually, in a mess you might have cared more about if you weren't about to come.
His green eyes, darkened like you’d never seen before, found yours. He moaned. He felt pathetic, unable to stop himself from shoving his boxers down his thighs. He took hold of himself, aching for the slightest bit of relief, because you were quite possibly the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He knew you’d look even better when you were coming on his tongue.
You whimpered when you saw him fisting his cock, nice and fast. He was so hard for you, and you weren’t shy about staring. You were too curious to see how he liked it, watching him fuck his fist with quick breaks to give extra attention to his tip. You thought about how he’d fuck you, how he’d like it then, and it pushed you over the edge.
Your cries came out choppy and strained until they cut out entirely. You sobbed silently, carelessly, rolling your hips over Eren’s tongue and helping his finger dip against that spot over and over again. You wanted to drag out the feeling for as long as you could. By the end, you were trembling, exhausted, and could no longer keep your eyes open.
Eren had to stop pumping himself, or else he would have come from that alone. He sat back on his calves, one of his hands stroking your thigh while his other gently rubbed your clit. His touch was no greater than a feather’s, just to ease you back down. You looked like you needed it, all wrecked, legs limply pulled apart, just like he hoped.
God. He annoyed himself for ever pretending he never wanted you, because you—you were a dream.
And the only thing that could wake him from such a dream was your voice.
“Eren?”
He loved it when you said his name.
You sat up to look at him properly. It felt like there were a ton of bricks on your chest. Eren appeared quite the opposite, entirely unfazed. He had his cheek smushed against your thigh, staring unabashedly at the finger he lazily pushed back inside you. You jolted, still sensitive, still spasming around his finger.
Eren felt mesmerized by the feeling of you sucking him in for more. He didn’t even look up when he replied, “Hm?”
You would have normally found the situation embarrassing, but you were still so touchy from your orgasm that the winding feeling in your stomach had already returned. Coiling tighter and tighter, it begged to snap again.
“I want you to fuck me.”
He loved hearing that even more.
If he were a dog, you’d imagined his ears would have perked up like you said the magic words.
“What was that?” Eren asked, more playfully than you expected. You didn’t like it, especially not when paired with his grin. “I couldn’t hear you. You were mumbling.”
“You heard me the first time.”
He ran his finger down your thigh. “Say it again.”
It tickled. You fussed, “Eren, come on—”
“No, I don’t think that was it. I think you said something else.”
“Just—” You sighed begrudgingly before giving in. “I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me, Eren.”
He positively beamed at you, proud of both you and himself. He reached for his boxers, still hanging mid-thigh, and removed them entirely.
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Eren straightened out and didn’t give you the chance to respond before flipping you onto your stomach. You bounced against the mattress when you landed with loud, conspicuous squeaks accompanying you.
You felt Eren’s hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. His fingers skated lower, down to your bra before undoing the clasp. When you pushed onto your hands, you felt your bra dangle loosely around your arms.
Eren took you by your hips and raised you to your knees.
“You look so pretty like this,” he said as he stroked himself with one hand, giving a light smack to your ass with his other.
“Eren!” you yelped. “Roommates!”
“I thought I told you not to worry about them,” he said, punctuated with another spank.
You could still feel the print of his hand when you heard rustling behind you. You peered over your shoulder to see Eren tearing open a condom. He rolled it onto his cock, all the while, his eyes kept you, naked and with your ass in the air, pinned to the bed.
He flattened a hand against your lower back, then spread you with the tip of his cock aligned with your entrance.
Eren guided himself inside more slowly than he wanted to, listening to you whimper as you adjusted to his size. It was a bit of a stretch but easy enough for him to push inside, having already prepped you with his fingers and mouth, leaving you aching for him to fill you with more.
Once his pelvis was flush against you, he felt you flutter around him, squeezing his cock so perfectly he thought you must be made for him. A low groan bubbled in his throat, nearly a growl. The sound made your heart skip, right between your lungs, and you clenched to encourage another.
“You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that,” Eren said in a hiss of pleasure.
“Doing what?” you asked innocently. Then you did it again.
Despite the warning, Eren didn’t protest it. Instead, he started thrusting into you leisurely. He was self-indulgent about it, spreading you with his hands so he could admire how well you took his cock.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered, quiet enough that it was as if he were talking to himself. “So fucking good.”
“Eren.”
The whine in your voice drove him wild.
His hands, large and demanding, gripped your sides. The blunt ends of his nails dug into the fat of them as he pulled you back to meet every snap of his hips. The smacking sound of skin-on-skin bounced off the bedroom walls, but you didn’t complain this time. You only let your head drop between your shoulders, eyes screwing shut as you became lost in the throes of pleasure all over again.
You reached a hand back to grab ahold of him where you could. He didn’t stop fucking you to ask, “What is it?”
He folded over you, hand snaking up your neck and taking hold of your chin. He turned you to look at him, to see what you wanted. But you couldn’t form anything other than wimpy chants of ah, ah, ah, sounding mangled through your squished cheeks.
“Tell me how you want it.”
His words alone made you bite back a moan.
Finally, you managed to say, “Harder.”
Eren smiled, slack-jawed and toothy, and you would have found it irresistible, yet totally ill-fitting, if you’d have seen it. But how else was he supposed to react?
He placed a kiss at the base of your neck, then between your shoulders. It was unexpectedly doting, until you felt his hand curve around your front. Though you knew what was coming, you still squealed when he hoisted you upright with your back sealed against his chest.
Eren held you there, fucking up into you, harder, like you asked of him. Your flimsy bra flopped around your arms with each of his thrusts. He groped at your breast, taking your nipple between his fingers, rolling and pinching at it until you were mewling.
He continued taking you as if you’d always been his, and you let him have you. You let him use you like you only existed for his pleasure, with your head feeling heavy as it lolled back against him.
But you were so much more than that. Eren was determined to make you come again. This time, he wanted to feel it.
“Touch yourself,” Eren breathed, right into your ear. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. “I want to hear you when you come this time.”
Your hand slithered down between your legs. The very tips of your fingers bumped into Eren’s cock as you got yourself off. Legs quivering with the added pressure, you were practically vibrating when you came, your heart pounding in your ears. There was no double he heard you this time around.
It was a challenge to remain upright. You fell from Eren’s hold and landed forcefully on the bed, him toppling right along with you. You were still riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm as he fucked you deep into the mattress; it had your thighs squeezing together so nicely for him.
“I’m—ah, fuck—I’m close,” Eren grunted.
He surprised you by pulling out, but you realized it was only to roll you onto your back. He manhandled you like you weighed nothing, had your arms tossed above your head and pinned in place with a single hand around your wrists. He pushed back inside you, hard and fast, with a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.
“I need to see you.”
Your stomach flipped at his words as if they were poetry. Fuck. He had you so irrevocably wrapped around his finger, you thought. And perhaps you were merely lovelorn and searching for something that wasn’t there, but you swore he appeared just as ensnared as you.
Your mouth sought out his in a sloppy kiss. It was suckling lips and colliding teeth, smothered grunts and groans as you ground against one another. But you didn’t care. You enjoyed every messy, frantic minute of it.
You wanted to touch him. Wriggling until he released his hold on your wrists, you took his face between your hands. His eyes were moony and heavy-lidded and had you swooning.
“Fuck, Eren—I want you to come,” you gasped.
Easy enough.
He came, hard. As perverted as it may sound, you wished you had a camera. You wanted to remember how his eyes snapped shut and to record every sound. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering, grinding as if he could reach any deeper.
Eren’s breath was hot against your already sweltering skin. It was hard to breathe, especially under his weight, but you wanted to stay there and hold him for a little while longer.
Neither of you spoke. You didn’t realize you’d been grazing your fingers up and down the back of his neck until he lifted off you. He let his gaze linger on your face, one last look, then nudged his nose against yours before getting up.
You laid still, only watching as Eren disposed of the condom. Your legs felt too soft and lazy to move, so you followed him with your eyes instead as he stepped into a pair of sweatpants.
“The invitation to stay the night still stands, right?” you asked. Admittedly, with some sass.
“No, I was actually going to call you an Uber home.” Eren rolled his eyes. “Of course it does. What kind of guy do you take me for?”
You giggled as you finally sat up. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hallway, last door on the right.” Eren took one look at you, then started digging around in his dresser. He tossed something at you, aiming it at your head by the looks of it. You snatched it just in time; it was one of his t-shirts. “You can wear that.”
You held it by the sleeves and gave it a once over. “Is that weird?”
“It wasn’t until you asked that.”
You pulled the tee over your head and adjusted it as you stood. Your underwear came next, but you felt more hesitant to put back on your jeans.
“They’re sleeping, I promise,” Eren assured as he put on a shirt of his own. “Just be quick.”
“Okay.” You left but poked your head back in to say. “I’m leaving the door cracked so I know which room is yours.”
He laughed. “All right.”
You followed his instructions, trying to be quick about it. You peed, washed your hands, and only stared at the fresh hickey on your collarbone for ten seconds before rushing back down the hallway.
Eren was in bed when he saw the door swing open. “Look at you, Ms. C Plus, not getting lost.”
You made a face at him. “Whatever, Brian.”
Right on cue, he complained, “It was one time.”
For whatever reason, you didn’t join him in bed right away. You felt a bit like a deer in headlights, blinking at Eren. He looked sleepy, his hair unkempt from your fingers. Seeing him like this, with you dressed in his shirt, about to curl up under his sheets—were you supposed to go along with this as if it were normal?
When you finally thought of something to say, Eren cut in first, “Don’t you dare try to take the couch after that.”
That was exactly what you were about to do.
He chuckled, knowing he was right by the stubborn purse of your lips. He lifted the blanket for you—once again, as if this were entirely normal for you to do—and said, “Get over here already. I’m getting cold.”
Eren was extremely difficult to say no to, but you knew that already. You crawled into his bed without contest and let him tuck the comforter over you.
Either his pillows were really soft, or you just felt that exhausted because your eyelids went immediately heavy. Eren reached over you to turn out the light, then let his arm fall on top of you. He hugged your waist and didn’t hesitate to pull you into him.
He nuzzled into the back of your neck, stealing a giggle from you. “Are you always this clingy after sex?”
Eren hummed an affirmative sound, tickling you again. He was most definitely never this clingy after sex. But there was no way he could keep his hands to himself, not with how good you looked in his shirt, barely long enough to cover anything. Maybe his tensions in lending you his shirt weren’t entirely pure—so sue him. You wearing his clothes was a sight he could get used to. One he had a feeling he’d get to see much more often.
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ ─── ur boyfriend satoru gojo loooves ur boobs so much, he discovers he has a breeding kink?! m.list
a/n: wrote this when i was half asleep (sorry if it's messy)
mdni | warnings: pure smut, fem reader, reader has big boobas, kinda pervy!satoru, brief mentions of period, spitting, tit play, breeding kink ♡
part 2
your boyfriend is obsessed with your tits, to the point where he's constantly groping you over your clothes when you're just trying to do simple tasks around the house.
"ugh, satoru, seriously?-" you huff and roll your eyes when you feel your boyfriend press behind you while you're washing the dishes, his large hands squeezing your soft, heavy breasts.
"mmm, can't help it, haven't got to touch 'em all day." he pouts and nuzzles against your neck like a damn puppy.
he loves the way the top of your tits spill over your bra, watching the soft bounce with every single step you take. he's perverted— you both know it.
but you don't mind it. if anything, his pervy ass turns you on. hearing his soft grunts from across the room when you wear only a thin white tank-top, your heavy breasts bouncing freely as you move about the house. the way your nipples perk and your cheeks heat up when you hear him groan your name. "hngh- fuck, baby.. s-so perfect."
sometimes when you're a few days away from your period— breasts swollen and you're sooo fucking horny, you just have to ask your boyfriend for help.
"t-toru.." you nudge him awake, his arm laid across your tummy.
a sleepy groan escapes him, his eyes still shut as he squeezes you like you're his own personal pillow. "five more minutes..."
"please, toru..." you whine, shifting underneath him as your swollen, full breasts ache. "need your help." you nudge him again and he finally opens his eyes, blinking away sleep as he looks up at you with those icy blues. and then he sees it— the way your cheeks are slightly flushed, your breathing unsteady and shaky, and your tits... they somehow look- bigger?!
"huuurts, satoru. i need your help, please." your shaky whimper makes his cock twitch against your thigh, already leaking droplets of pre - and he swallows hard.
"f-fuck, baby..." he sits up quicker than you think you've ever seen him move, straddling your lap as his large hands caress the tender swell of your breast. "arms up for me.. there you go." his voice is rough, still laced with sleep, and it makes your already sensitive nipples perk instantly. your breath hitches when his thumb grazes the sensitive bud, the sensation sending sparks straight to your core.
"my poor, sweet girl." he coos, bringing both of his hands to knead at the sensitive tissue. "so swollen, god.. they're even bigger." he continues to knead one of your heavy breasts with his palm, leaning down to flick his tongue over your pointed bud.
"y-yes, more satoru, please," you tangle your hands in his soft, snowy white locks, begging for any sort of reprieve. he doesn't hesitate— locking his lips around your peak, latching on and rubbing his tongue in slow circles. your head falls back into the pillows, breathless whimpers escaping your lips.
it's not long before your panting, tugging harder at his hair, making his cock leak more against his boxers. "mmm, i know, baby.. let me take care of you." he releases your nipple, nibbling and sucking at the tender skin around it, kissing up your chest as your breaths come in short gasps. "satoru— fuck me, please." you're too horny to feel any shame, the growing mess in your panties a clear indicator.
"sweetheart, are you sure?" his cock is throbbing against your stomach, and he swears he could've came from just hearing those words leave your sweet lips. but he's big- he usually will prep you with a couple of fingers and make you cum on his tongue at least twice before he even thinks about sticking his cock in you. he always wants to make sure you're taken care of first, his perfect girl.
but now, his once bright blue eyes are now dark with lust, scanning over every inch of your face.
"need it, toru, need you."
god— you were going to be the death of him. he pulls down the waistband of your sleep shorts, his pupils dilating more when he sees the wet spot on your panties. he dips his head down, nudging his nose against the thin, sticky fabric and inhaling deep— his eyes rolling back and his hips jutting against the bed. you feel your face heat up again, tugging at his hair. you truly didn't want him to even bother with fingering you- you needed to feel him, every single vein of his long cock dragging along the sides of your gummy walls.
"toru, cmon-"
"just wanna taste..." he licks a messy stripe up your wet folds up to your throbbing clit, making your hips jerk against his face. "mmm- so needy, baby." after a few more torturous licks to your clothed clit, he finally sits back up on his heels, pulling your panties down. he just stares at you for a second — his eyes raking up and down your glistening folds, the curve of your swollen tits. how did he get so lucky?
he settles between your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs as he pushes your knees to your chest. "think she's ready for me, yeah?" he gives your pussy a quick slap, making you yelp and arch your back off the bed.
"hnngh- satoruuu, don't tease!" you pout your bottom lip at him and bring your hand to massage your achingly swollen breast. and that's all it takes, his much larger hand replacing yours as he finally gives you what you're so desperately craving, quickly disposing of his ruined boxers and burying himself into your tight cunt in one thrust.
you've taken him so many times before, but you don't think you'll ever get used to just how much he stretches you out. your nails leave small red crescents that burn on his skin, your breath feeling like it's being fucked out of you. he uses one arm to push your thigh up closer to your chest, your leg hanging over his shoulder, his cock bullying into you even deeper. "hck- s'deep, toru!!-"
but his eyes are focused on your chest — your heavy, bouncing tits. he spits directly onto your sore breast, smearing it across as he watches the soft skin glisten. wow, your boyfriend really is filthy — but it makes your cunt clench. "so perfect-" he whispers, almost to himself. you look up at him- a few strands of white stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat forming on his chest, and he's - drooling?! his thrusts growing sloppier, but still just as deep. "my pretty girl, wanna make you my wife."
your eyes widen, and before you're barely even able to register it — your orgasm hits you hard. "s-satoru!" tears fall down your cheeks as your gush around him, making his hips falter. "yeah, there's my pretty girl, fuck- gonna fill you up, baby.." he leans down and smashes his lips to yours - hot and messy. he pulls back, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth, his hand still kneading at your spit covered breast. "what'dya think, huh? hah- fill you up with so much cum, make you my wife and a mama?"
you're not even sure if you're registering exactly what he's saying, but you nod and buck your hips up to meet his punishing thrusts.
"y-yes satoru, want you to cum inside, please!" your begs and whimpers are music to his ears, your legs shaking and your vision blurring as another orgasm washes over you.
"god, these tits are gonna be huge, they're already so big, can't even imagine how they'll look filled with milk.." and- oh - he's drooling again — so fucked out and lost in your cunt and in the thoughts of watching your already swollen breasts swell even more.
now he's cumming hard — he didn't even know he could produce that much cum. "f-fuck," a broken moan of your name leaves his throat as his throbbing cock finally stops spurting.
he collapses onto you — both of your bodies slick with sweat, his spit dried on your bruised and bitten breast, and his cum leaking out around his half-hard cock. he peppers your forehead in kisses and wipes your tears before tilting your chin to kiss your swollen lips.
"don't worry babe, once these things are swollen with milk— i can help you out then, too." he gives your breast a playful smack, and you feel his cock stir back to life inside you.
you know you're in for a long night.
comments and reblogs appreciated! ♡
repost from my old account sytorusdoll
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you dread the day eren got that stupid ass camcorder. you can’t do anything normal because he will not stop shoving it in your face. he for some reason feels the need to document every single thing you do. date night? recorded. bowling with friends? recorded. dinner at his moms house? recorded. he even bought the damn thing to the grocery store.
you truly cannot understand his fixation for this chunk of metal but it makes him so happy you can’t bring yourself to say anything negative about it to him. it’s like his baby, he even ordered a shitload of stickers for it saying he wanted it to feel like his own. whatever that means.
“look at the camera baby- that’s it, there she is.” he coos down at you peering through the lens. he is so unbelievable! here he is stuffing you so good, so full, with this camera shoved in your face!
“eren, watch out with that shit, seriously!” you grit through your teeth trying to be stern, but the way he pressed himself oh so deep has you wavering. his shallow thrust puts tears in your eyes captured by the blinding light of the flash.
he just laughs adjusting the camera settings until he finds the perfect one. “but you look so sexy like this princess. i think this might be my favorite video.” he says starting a new tape.
“let’s do it like.. this uh huh.” he’s more so talking to himself than you but you can’t find it in your heart to care. not when he takes a warm hand and bends one of your knees up to reach places only he can. he watches in awe as your face screws up with pleasure, camera capturing it all. it pick up every sound you make, every bounce of those pretty nipples rubbing against the fabric of your pajama shirt, every single chant of his name as he thrust.
“shhiittt baby! baby- eren!” you moan for him life his personal little slut and he drinks it all up relishing in the way your pussy clamps down on him hard. “that’s right cum on your dick for the camera.” he grunts, never stopping even though he’s fighting the resistance of your walls.
he zooms in on the way your cream has coated the entire length of him. with the hand holding your leg he brings it down rubbing fast tight circles on the button of your clit. you jerk trying to scoot away from the overstimulation he causes your body. it’s pathetic how wet you are right now pussy just gushing and gushing for him.
he has this sexy evil grin on his face, but you can tell by the it faltered when he bites his lip, or the way his thick brows scrunch he wants to cum so badly.
“tell daddy how much you love cumming on him baby, please? i wanna hear it, we wanna hear you.” he groans bringing his attention back to your pretty ass fucked out face. “tell me, baby. don’t leave me hanging.”
you can barley even form two thoughts, so cock drunk all you can muster is a weak “i—i love,” letting out another whine before cumming on him again. he lets out a satisfied hum pushing deep into his defaulted position; tucked in your cunt kissing your womb.
taking his sticky cum covered thumb he brings it to your mouth pushing his digit between glossy lips letting it rest on your tongue while you absentmindedly suckle. he truly doesn’t think he can be any harder than he is right now. it hurts so good he feels himself pulsating wanting to fill you so badly but he clenches every muscle in his body to stop himself from doing so. he knows how other worldly this will be for him when he gets what he wants.
“what do you love, dollface? tell me.” he slurs behind the camera, thumping it twice with his fingers. “look here and say.”
his thumb pops itself from your mouth his hand holds your cheek almost as if he’s keeping you on earth. he guides your gaze to the camera and you mewl softly. with glassy eyes you bashfully look into the lens.
“i love — i love cummin’ for you daddy, love it s’much.”
he pulls out before you can even register what’s going on. you sob over the loss of contact feeling so empty. you find the camera discarded on the bed and he looms above you, tummy dipping in and out with a strong veiny hand squeezing the thick cream coated base of his dick.
your poor baby is so over(under?)stimulated his tip is nearly purple. it doesn’t even bob down like it normally does, literally rock hard. the fog clears slightly being drawn from that headspace when you hear how sexy and pitiful he sounds trying to keep himself on the edge. he grunts and groans damn near growl not daring to move an inch.
“w—why didn’t you give me that, e?” you muster up the voice to talk to him. he glares at you brows furrowed deep like he’s in pain (the good kind) and huffs finally letting go of himself.
“i’m gon give you everything in a minute i jus’ need you to flip over.” he says softly like if he talks to loud he’ll be done for. you roll over hesitantly flat in your stomach per his request and you hear behind you the camera jingling while he fools around with it. you’re semi annoying again cause there’s no way he stopped just to fuck around with that?
it’s now that eren shoves it in your hand, the lens and the screen both facing you showing you its point of view. you peak over your shoulder questioningly before gazing back into your own expression. two strong arms plant themselves right by you head and you feel the weight of him on you. all of him. he drags his tip through your folds hissing at your pussy trying to suck him in.
“get us both in there okay? you’re my camerawoman now.” he tells you bringing his face by yours pressing cheek to cheek. he enters you fully with a hiss, pathetic pleasure written in his face when he taps your cervix. your wrist feels weak the camera suddenly weighs a ton and it wobbles in your hold. his thrust have no rhythm, he just fucks you however feels good chasing his own high. chocolate brown locks tickle his shoulders and fall down by your faces. every moan spurs him on he feels the burning pleasure in his gut.
“cum in me ren, please! i need it so badly, so so so— hmph!” he shuts you up with a kiss all tongue and teeth. he’s moaning, cheeks flushed pink so horny he can’t even think.
“told you i would,” he grunts thrusting on last time before he stills completely. it’s very rare to seem him in this fucked out state he’s usually the one keeping his composure but the way you let him use your cunt has him in a drunken state. hot thick globes of his cum fill you deliciously you feel hot everywhere.
he rest all his weight on your back, snuggling into your shoulder not even daring to pull out. you’re such a little asshole while he’s in his headspace you shove the camera in his face capturing that glossy eyed gaze he can’t control. he groans in annoyance before tucking back in your neck and shoulder.
“don’t be camera shy now, e. show me your face.” you chuckle giving him a taste of his own medicine. he absentmindedly reaches up snapping the screen shut and snatching it out your hand, tossing it somewhere at the foot of the bed.
“not right now sweetheart please, just let me,” silence.
eren giving you backshots in the mirror after work
it was late at night, and you were brushing your teeth in the mirror getting ready to go to bed.
eren texted you a couple minutes before that he was coming in late because he got held up with something at work. This wasn’t unheard of with eren, and during these type of days he’s exhausted after, immediately falling asleep after he getting ready for bed.
after you spit the minty toothpaste out your mouth, you were headed to leave the bathroom and snuggle under the covers, when you’re greeted with eren opening the door before you could put your palm on the handle.
“eren!” you squeak out, startled by his sudden presence. “I didn’t even hear you come in-“ you halt your words, taking a good look into his piercing green eyes. knowing what expression he’s making right now.
“hey baby, sorry to scare you..” eren steps into the room, slightly nudging the door close behind him, invading your space and making you feel.. nervous?
he’s never been this responsive after long work days like this, you usually get a greeting kiss and a sweet goodnight.
not a look of carnal want, and need. you regonize that expression, and what it means when the shade darkens a hue.
eren knows you know what he’s want, so he takes another step, pushing you to the sink in the bathroom, while he cages you in with his two huge arms.
he cuts to the chase, “i’ve been thinking about you all day..” he says, scanning your body seeing the flimsy tank top you have on along with your go to sleep shorts. looking at your body makes him even more desperate
“i missed you too ren” you sigh, smiling a bit while putting one your arm his neck. eren rests one of his hands on you’re waist, giving it a squeeze.
“Yeah? you did sweet girl?” he asked, going down to give a kiss on your neck, your arm still around his neck guiding him to yours.
“mhm..” tilting your neck so he has more space to bit and suck. you two never had much time together like this recently, and you would be a liar if you said you didn’t miss getting railed by eren. to be honest ..
eren extends both of his veiny hands your ass, giving it a squeeze before picking you up, and putting you on the counter, still kissing the column of your neck.
“lemme make you feel good baby” eren requests, pulling back from your hickey decorated neck with a string of saliva. “i want you so bad right now.. been thinking about bending you over all week”
the blunt remark caused a pool of arousal to seep in your underwear. you take your hand away from erens neck and put it on your thigh, which catches his gaze. looking at your thighs was a turning point from him, he couldn’t wait no more.
“turn around f’me”
both of your clothes were long gone, somewhere discarded, thrown around the bathroom floor, no where to be seen.
what could be seen though, was your fucked out face in the mirror, and eren himself behind you, pounding you relentlessly.
you’ve cum about 2 times already, and felt the 3rd one coming soon, if he’s going to keep fucking his girthy tip on that spongy spot inside of you.
“fuck baby” eren babbles “this pussy is so sweet, inviting me in easily like you were made for this cock.” he groans, watching his big dick go in and out your hole
one of his hands are on your ass, while the other rests on your throat, giving a slight squeeze every time you clench
“mmh.. ah shit eren” you whine, not able to keep up with his pace. it’s all too overstimulating for you, but you can’t bring yourself to stop, you want more
“feels good? taking me so well, sucha good-ah fuuck- girl” eren grins, tightening his grip on your throat and slowing down his thrusts to grind into you
this new change of pace makes you whimper, pressing your cheek on the cold granite on your bathroom counter.
“baby look up. see how im making you feel good love” eren asks, snaking his hand down to your neglected clit, pressing down on it hard, making you moan, and ultimately look up into the mirror once again
eren speeds up his pace, teetering you towards the edge, “ren.. i’m close-oh fuck” you moan out, feeling his fingers circle your sensitive nub
“cum all on me” still fucking you into oblivion “give it to me ..shit” he releases his grip on your neck and puts down to your ass, pulling it back to meet his cock
with his praise, you unravel whimpering out his name with gushing all over him. hes still thrusting in you, bringing you to tears from pleasure
“fuck i love it when you cry for me baby..” eren moans “i’m gonna fill you up..kay? mmh- you’ll be leaking for days” rubbing circles on your skin
with two more hard thrusts, he spills inside you, while you get to witness his face in the slightly fogged up mirror. hes looks destroyed, fucked out, ruined.
you feel the hot gush of cum enter you, leaving you stuffed full, even when eren pulled out. globs of cum trickle out.
eren grins, and reaches over to give you a kiss on the cheek. “you so well f’me princess” he praises, turning you around so you can face him.
“ren im.. tired” you slump in his arms. “i know. i know.. we’ll clean up in the morning. he picks you up and carries you to your shared bed.
he places you under the cover, so you could get comfortable. you immediately succumbed to your sleepiness.
he loved you, so much.
a/n: hey,, guys i’m sorry eren fine ahh has been on my mind so much so ofc i had to write him dicking us down 🥰 don’t mind the typos this was written at 2 am
a/n: i saw a fratjo x frat boy eren fanart on tt by mochikuyo and got inspired (artist ate downn, give them some love). so read this with that in mind lmao.
“My turn, sweet thing,” Satoru coos as he gently grabs your hips, situating himself between your thighs while Eren shifts so that your back is propped against his chest. “Can you cream my cock how you creamed his?” Satoru lilts in your ear.
You nod dazedly, still high from your previous orgasm. You didn't even know how you got here. “I need words, sweetheart,” Satoru commands gently, his hand coming up to grasp your chin, making you look at him. A breathy yes was all you could muster. "She can take more," Eren chuckles as he presses a kiss against your temple.
Satoru chuckled and pressed a kiss to your swollen lips. He grabs his throbbing dick, dragging the fat head against your wet slit. You shiver as his tip catches against your swollen clit before Satoru slides it back down and pushes it into your entrance.
You hiss and let out a whimper at the sensation of his dick sliding in. You were still sensitive, and the way Satoru stretched you out had your hands gripping his biceps tightly. His brows furrow in pleasure as he lets out a moan. “I know, sweet thing, I know,” Satoru groans. “I know it’s big. Just breathe,” he says before pulling out at the tip and slamming into you. “Oh fuck!” You cried out, digging your dull nails even further into his skin. Satoru groans at the sensation of your nails and your walls fluttering around his cock. It’s making his head spin. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to come on the spot.
Eren smirks at Satoru's face. He wants to make a snide remark, but he holds back. His hands are busy kneading one of your tits and pinching your nipples. He leans in closely, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Look at him, baby," he rasps. "You're about to make him come." Satoru grits his teeth, desperately trying to think of anything else just so that he wouldn't come in the next two or three thrusts.
Eren then trails a hand slowly down your stomach, pausing just at your pussy, before his fingers find your swollen clit. You mewl and jolt in response, your walls tightening. "Fuck!" Satoru rasps. "You're doing that on purpose," he growls at Eren. Eren just lets out a laugh that almost sounds cocky. "I'm not doing anything," he replies. "Just trying to make our girl feel good."
You begin to squirm between the two men, the pleasure growing stronger and stronger. Your skin is tingling, your breath quickens, and you squeeze your eye shut. "Mmh, she's 'bout to come," Eren growls, his fingers working at your clit with consistent circles.
Satoru's thrusts turn sloppy, his moans growing louder. "Come on, it, sweetheart," he pants. "Hear that, baby?" Eren hums in your ear. "He wants your cum." You let out a wanton moan, your orgasm fast approaching. The way Satoru's cock and Eren's fingers worked your pussy almost made you feel lightheaded. Like you couldn't breathe. "Yes, sweet thing, you're almost there!" Satoru moans, sounding a little more desperate this time. "Want it dripping down my balls," he whispers. Just then, your body locks, your orgasm hitting you like a train. It's blinding hot. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, your hands desperately grabbing at anything they can. Your hand grasps Eren's thigh while your other arm intertwines with his burly one, locking at the elbow. Your head is thrown back against his chest as you let out a silent scream.
Satoru moans with each wave of his orgasm, his hot cum releasing in spurts inside you. He thrusts once, then twice, before slowly pulling out. It is when you come back to your senses that you feel Eren's throbbing erection pressed against your back. "My turn," he murmurs against your ear.
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓑.𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐉𝐎 𓂃 ⭒ bounces you on his cock cause he thinks you're stupid
⤿ ꒰ he's always seen you as nothing but a stupid, pretty girl :: college au :: slight angst :: smut :: mean satoru :: degradation :: f. oral :: fingering :: riding :: dumbification :: overstimulation ꒱
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ has been your worst nightmare since highschool. belittling you, shaming you, making you feel like you were the dirt beneath his shoe. unlike other bullies, he didn't have to push you around and slam you into lockers to make your gut twist. no, all he had to do was toss you a smug smirk over his shoulder whenever your mathematics exams were handed back. his red-circled A++ crumpling your hopes into your measly B-. you thought things would be different in college.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ was nothing if not dedicated. to his valedictorian status and his relentless belittling. hell, the second you stepped foot into your quantum physics class— he scoffed. then grinned as you reluctantly made your way to the only empty seat. . . right beside him. “my, what's the bimbo doing here? daddy's money must be doing wonders.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ rolled his eyes as he passed by you in the hallway and saw you talking up a male classmate. muttering under his breath, “no wonder your grades are falling.” only to send you a wink when he catches your crestfallen look.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ was not impressed when you were both paired for an assignment together. he actively tried to protest against the professor, but soon settled for it. before you knew it, he was in your dorm and grumbling over a textbook. shuffling over his laptop with an cooing tongue click and condescending head tilt. “aww. you really don't get it, do you?” then grinned mockingly as you shook your head with big eyes and a trembling lip. “silly girl. looks like I'll be carrying us again.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ rolled his eyes when you came to him all teary because— he was right. your grades were slipping. hell, you never wanted to be in astrophysics. your parents forced you. and now here you were with a crumpled up paper in your hands and crying to your bully, begging him to tutor you. he agreed with slumped shoulders and a groaning, “fine, whatever. just don't waste my time.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ was awful the entire time, no matter how hard you tried. he'd explain things that your brain couldn't process and lecture you when you wouldn't get it. and when he had enough of your tears? he snatched your chin, thumb swiping below your eye. “stop it.” he muttered. “stop it. stop crying. you can't help that you're stupid, now can you?” and when you didn't? well. . . let's just say he was inclined to make you cry in a more pleasurable way.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ soon enough, had you sprawled over the table. textbooks and stationary strewn all over as he thumbs on the soaked fabric between your quivering thighs. creating a perfect friction against your trembling clit as you bucked and whined into him. another hand dwarfed your inner thigh as he pressed it down, keeping you wide open with a grinning, “now what did I say? keep those legs open for me. you can do that, right? not too dumb for that?”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ took great pleasure in making you pay for wasting his time. he sucked on your clit through your panties until they were drenched with his saliva and your messy cum. allowing you to grip his hair only when he yanked your panties down and latched his mean mouth onto your pussy. licking, suckling, ruining you on his tongue while he glared at you from over his glasses. “suuuchhh a slut,” he huffed, fogging his spectacles. “no wonder those grades are slipping.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ fingered you open with two long digits. lips fixed to your clit and assaulting it with his tongue as he surged you through yet another sticky orgasm. fingers slow, steady and cruel while his mouth was ravenous. switching between your slit and throbbing nub. doubling down when you clung to his hair and whimpered out his name. he wouldn't admit to how hard he throbbed when you whined it like that. instead he dragged his tongue from your slit to your clit and groaned into the stringy mess.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ leaned back into the chair and let you bounce on his cock. it was the least you could do after wasting his time, right? “stupid girl,” he huffed, swallowing a groan as he tweaked on your nipple. grinding his hips up filthily. once, twice, until you were clinging to his shoulders and humping on him like a pitiful slut. he clicked his tongue and watched as your pussy stretched. squelching and squirming all over him. “maybe you should just drop out, huh? drop out and be a slut for a living. you're better at it.” as he spanked! your ass. then gripped tight.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ who toppled you over him when your bounces became weak grinds. hands fisting your ass and squeezing you on his thick cock as he pounded up until you were whining and drooling in his ear. leaving behind a gooey ring of cream round his base and bubbling your webbed mess all over. his name was on your lips like a lewd prayer. desperate pleas and whines as his pubic bone caught your clit with every rough slam. “just can't do anything right, can you sweetheart? fuck, stupid little girl with the prettiest pussy.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ lost himself when you creamed him for the nth time that day. a hand fixed to the back of your neck as he rolled his hips up in jagged thrust. making you whimper. squirm. and all he did? grin. “there ya go. that's it. take it. fucking. take it.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ was not prepared for your lips crashing onto his. for your hands clinging to his hair and your whines spilling into his mouth. and most definitely not for your spluttered little: "I love you— I love you satoru— toru, toru I love you, I love you!”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ had to leave the second he'd cleaned you up and tucked your sleeping form into bed. stumbling back to his dorm, slamming his door shut. he white knuckled the counter and hunched over. heart pounding in his ears as he replayed your words over, and over again. I love you. I love you satoru. he scrubbed a hand down his face. cupped his mouth and nose as he breathed heavily, then looked into the mirror. hair disheveled. eyes puffy. no, no, no no no no no. what the fuck did he just do?
