dealer!ellie is all rough denim and even rougher edges. she’s not a woman of many words, but when she does speak, it’s because she has something to say. really, she just wants to sell her shit and go home. until she meets you, sorority!reader, who’s all bored eye rolls and caustic remarks. you’re always snugged up under the fabric of some type of figure-hugging athleisure that ellie’s positive is only there to keep the perpetual stick up your ass in place. it’s not long before she’s found herself drawn to you, and vice versa. under your veneer of bitchiness is a heart sweet enough to bleed sugar. you sand off the rugged edges of ellie’s exterior and fall face first into the passion she keeps hidden within. it’s not long before the pair of you realize you can’t live without each other.
tags: Modern AU, inspired by southern America, Coming of Age, Summer, mentions of wealth, smut, gratuitous Smut, best friend’s brother, age aap, older man/ younger woman, Eren is early 30s, You and Mikasa are early 20s, Marlboro Reds, mentions of wealth/luxury, secret relationship, feelings of guilt, homoerotic friendship, Oral sex, talking to genitals (????), thigh riding, car sex, minor age play, excessive use of baby and little girl, squirting, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, cervix hitting, painful sex, minor size kink, dubcon
summary: Lilacs, particularly light purple ones, are often associated with the initial emotions and excitement of first love. White lilacs are often seen as symbols of purity and youthful innocence.
read on ao3
notes: merry christmas to all my lovebugs <33
part ii: honeysuckle
It’s been nearly a month of whispers, stolen kisses hidden within the dark of the pantry and midnight trespasses into his room.
Even in the shadows, you feel alive, more alive than you ever believed you could be. And though a whisper of guilt lingers for keeping this secret from Mikasa, every fluttering heartbeat screams that this fleeting, glorious adventure is worth every second.
Then comes dinner. You sit with Mikasa, feeling her warmth beside you, while Eren’s gaze lingers across the table, filled with quiet lust. Carla and Grisha sit at the head, their presence solid and commanding against the white walls adorned with flowers in marble vases.
The sunset blazes outside in a riot of orange and blood-red, casting the room in a fiery glow that makes everything feel alive. The chairs are carved and ornate, the table draped in a soft, lace cloth, bearing an array of dishes.
The patio doors stand wide open, flooding the room with a gentle, restless breeze. The wind teasingly brushes through your hair, dancing along the edges, curling around your face with a tender insistence that makes your skin tingle.
Your fingers fidget anxiously with the neckline of your linen dress, its low plunging V carving a path to the promise of your bare skin beneath. It’s a little bold, a little reckless, but Mikasa’s voice echoes in your mind: It’s Gabriela Hearst! You have to wear it— I picked it up in New York.
Eren’s gaze lingers on you, unmistakably hungry, his eyes drifting multiple times to the heavy curve of your chest. His hand brushes across his five o'clock shadow, a stubble that’s been growing, the same way you do; tangled in the sheets of his bed, his mouth hot on your neck, and his breath caressing you— No, stop it, that tickles!
And somehow, in that moment, it feels right, daring and free. Womanly, like you've discarded the demure, shy cocoon of youth and spread your gangly limbs into a set of wings.
You sit quietly, your heart full as you savour each bite of food, feeling the heat of his gaze. Laughter bubbles up as you exchange playful giggles with Mikasa, your spirits intertwined, while your words drift to Carla about their time in Melbourne.
Mikasa’s voice lilts in as she sighs, “I really wished you could’ve come, but you were already off in Tuscany.”
You gently pinch her cheek, your eyes warm with affection. “I wish I could be with you all the time, but I can't always drop everything.”
Carla’s smile radiates pure kindness. “It would’ve meant the world if you had come. You’re like family to us, truly.”
But suddenly, the atmosphere shifts; across the table, Eren’s smirk cuts through the warmth.
His eyes, dark and shimmering with mischief, lock onto you over his glass of wine. Yeah, family. You’re like my little sister.
A jolt runs through you, your hand instinctively tightening in your lap. His smirk widens, and he chuckles softly. “It’s probably for the best she didn’t come, Mikasa. Maybe you need to learn how to make friends without paying for them.”
Mikasa’s voice pierces through the tension, sharp with indignation. “That’s not true! Oh my god, you’re such an asshole–”
Grisha’s voice cuts in, calm but steady, “No swearing at the table, sweetheart.” Resigned but firm.
Mikasa’s protests fade, but her eyes shine with fierce emotion. “But, Dad, he—”
You smile softly, taking a small, deliberate sip of water. When the arguments fade into quiet, settling into the gentle rhythm of the weather, a warm feeling blossoms inside you. You nod along to Mikasa’s words, brushing your hair over your shoulder, unaware of the world around you, when suddenly, a boot nudges your calf.
Your eyes lift, and you see Eren, still deep in conversation with his parents, completely unaware of your gaze, or so it seems. But his eyes sparkle with a hidden intensity that suggests he’s more aware than he lets on.
Your heart quickens as you uncross your legs, slowly wrapping your ankle around his. You feel the sturdy corded muscles of his calves beneath his jeans, the electric tension of his presence. He inhales quietly, jaw twitching with restraint, caught between composure and desire. Before you even realise it, you stand, excuse yourself softly, and make your way out.
“I just need to go to the bathroom.” With your voice thick with anticipation, you softly pad out of the dining hall, your heart pounding.
But as soon as you reach the corridor, the unmistakable thud of his boots echoes behind you. A thrill shoots through you, and with a gasp, you turn to him, as he pulls you into the privacy of the bathroom, where everything else evaporates.
The door clicks shut behind him, and before you can even catch your breath or call out his name, his lips are already pressed fiercely against yours. His hands are everywhere: fingers tangled urgently in your hair, gripping your throat with a hunger, roaming over your chest with reckless abandon.
You gasp, overwhelmed, as he quickly and roughly squeezes your ass, sending a wave of pleasure through you. Without hesitation, he thrusts his tongue into your mouth as he presses you against the bathroom counter, his tongue tracing circles against your teeth.
“Eren," you pant softly, your voice trembling as his lips leave yours only to trace a hot, lingering path down your cleavage.
"Such a tease," he grunts, his voice thick with desire, as he eagerly sucks on the flesh of your breasts through your dress, leaving a wet, soiled mark. His hands grip your hips with unbridled hunger, pulling your ass apart with enough force to make your heart race, and your arousal seeps freely down your thighs as you drip with anticipation.
Your neck arches backwards, a delicate sound, a whimper soft as a sigh, slips past your parted lips as his teeth graze and tug at your nipple, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.
“God, I fuckin’ love your tits,” he whispers, his voice full of lust, as if they are the most precious thing in the world to him.
He ruts against you shallowly as you tangle your hands in his hair, trying to pull him off—
We can't stay in here for long; they’ll get suspicious.
“Don’t need long,” he grunts, dropping to his knees with a raw, eager intensity. His emerald eyes shimmer with greed as they lock onto yours.
His words cut straight to your core, leaving you weak in the knees, nearly melting in his hands. He’s so undeniably handsome, so rugged, it feels almost unbearable. You’re overwhelmed, caught in a tidal wave of longing, feeling like a teenager again— watching him break in bucks and shotgun beers, lost in that raw, irresistible charm.
His head dips beneath your dress, his nose brushing against your underwear, breath coming in ragged, animalistic pants, like a dog in heat. You instinctively try to press your thighs together, a desperate effort to hold back, but a sudden, sharp crack across your ass jolts you.
“We don’t have time, Eren,” you whisper desperately, your legs trembling already.
“We’d have more time if you stopped frettin’ like a ghost at high noon,” he grins, his eyes wild as he presses a tender kiss to your knee. “I can’t let you go back all worked up, can I? Ain’t what any gentleman would do.”
“Eren, we can’t—”
Chuckling darkly, he slips once more beneath your skirt, and you can sense the smirk in his voice as he says, Wasn’t talking to you, sweetheart.
Not bothering to remove your underwear, he trails a slow, deliberate lick along the length of your crotch, then hungrily sucks out the arousal from your soaked underwear. A shiver courses through you, and you find yourself teetering on the edge, almost succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure already.
She’s so mean, ain't she, sweet thing? Doesn’t want you to get your fill—
He murmurs against the cotton, his voice tinged with concern. Then, with a gentle tut, he presses tender kisses to your aching, throbbing core.
—I wanna make you cum, baby, he slurs, his mouth brushing against the lace covering your clit. Are you gonna let me taste this pussy?
A large dribble of arousal spills out of you, directly wetting the spot above his tongue, and he moans.
“Yeah, she's talkin’ back,” his voice a rumbling husk.
He runs his tongue over your clit, flicking it with devoted urgency, and soon enough, he feels you surrender just a little more. Your moans grow louder, more lewd, and he responds with fervour, sucking gently on your clit between his flicks. The fear melts away, replaced by pure pleasure, until you’re trembling, calling his name and begging him to give you even more.
Eren, yes, oh, don’t stop— you’re telling him how good it feels, thanking him for making you feel so good as you start to rock your hips back and forth.
“You needed this, huh?” He can feel your insides quiver and tighten around the tip of his tongue, and he lets out a low, satisfied chuckle. “Mm, yeah, I know, baby.”
Eren can’t help but smirk against you as he pushes his face back up to your dripping entrance, pulling aside your pants before nudging your clit with his nose, as he laps at the sticky sweetness gathering at your folds. He sucks your clit into his mouth, and gently flicks his tongue back and forth over the swollen nub as you moan from his touch.
You gasp and squirm above him as he does it again and again. He sucks your folds into his mouth, tonguing and teasing them as you tangle your fingers into his dark hair. You push his face tighter against you, and he moans into your skin.
And just like that, your thighs are trembling, and you’re shuddering. He feels your clit start to pulse on his tongue before you even get out, I’m cumming.
You cum hard and fast, and he guides your hips as you ride your orgasm out on his tongue. Your little slit clenches in phantom embraces, dripping more cum into his mouth with each contraction, drenching the bottom half of his face.
You're still shuddering, your body slumped against the sink behind you, as if the air itself has drained from your lungs. Every nerve in your body is alive with shock and adrenaline, pounding through your veins, leaving you fragile and raw.
He rises to his feet, a smug grin curling on his lips, a triumphant glint in his eyes that makes your stomach tighten with a mix of defiance and vulnerability.
You weakly shove him away, your trembling hands clutching at your dress as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. “You’re the worst,” you whisper, voice trembling, “How do I look?”
He strokes a gentle, almost kind hand down your arm, a dark softness in his touch. “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a teasing edge in his voice. “They won’t suspect a thing, hm?”
Without warning, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he peppers your hair with a few soft, lingering kisses, both intimate and dangerous.
Then, in a hushed whisper, he leans towards your ear, his voice thick with promise and secrecy. “Come for a drive with me tonight. After Mikasa is asleep. I’ll be out at 11.”
“Tonight? Why?” you ask him, sick with anticipation.
He pulls back, his eyes lingering over every inch of your body. He presses his body against yours, his cock hard and pulsing against your stomach, sending a shiver down your spine. He gently cups your face, the unspoken words swirling behind his eyes.
He pulls away abruptly, and jerks his head towards the door again, heat flickering in his eyes. “Go on, baby, Mikasa’ll be goin’ crazy without you there.”
You hesitate for a moment, then shuffle toward the door, only to turn back and send him a small, yet electric smile. “Tonight,” you whisper.
Stars spilt across the sky like pale corn, drifted into freshly turned ground. Your window is cracked open just a whisper, a gentle breeze teasing over you. That night, you were restless, the warm heat offering little relief. Your linen shorts and light top offered little respite from the thirst in your core. As your dreams linger and swirl, you fix your gaze on the clock by your bedside, counting each second, desperate for it to strike 11.
Suddenly, you hear the rhythmic hum of Eren’s truck from outside, and you spring up in a heartbeat. Peering out, your eyes catch the vivid flash of red streaking down the street, like a stain of lipstick across the dark canvas of night. Without hesitation, you pull a hoodie over your head, slip into your fluffy slippers, and move silently through the corridor.
You pause at Mikasa’s door, listening to her deep, steady breaths. A small prayer catches in your throat, a plea for forgiveness, for understanding. Stepping quickly down the stairs, you reach the front door and fling it open, a grin already breaking across your face before you even glimpse him.
The car, cloaked in night, hummed a slow, nostalgic tune. Resting on its fresh summer tyres, perfectly black, with treads deep enough to hold onto secrets, it thrummed with warmth and anticipation, alive with quiet excitement. He stood beside it, the glow of his cigarette illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw, the gentle bob of his throat as he took a breath.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he beckoned, tugging you closer with a tender nip on your earlobe.
He reached out, opening the truck door—
Get your pretty ass in there.
—and in that instant, you slid into the seat, feeling the familiar contour of comfort beneath you. He buckled your seatbelt with care, like guarding a fragile treasure, a vow of protection and devotion.
He stepped into the driver’s seat and ignited the engine, and suddenly the open road stretched out before you like a ribbon of liquorice. The countryside surrounded it, grass waving fiercely, delicate floral heads bouncing in the wind.
His headlights catch the shimmering dust and flickering fireflies, casting a tender glow across the tarmac that seems to dance with the shadows. The radio hummed a slow, bluesy tune. Your knees tremble with a mixture of eager anticipation and the icy caress of the night, yet he remained utterly still as he cruised down the road.
“You always this quiet when it’s just me and you?” His voice startles you.
You fidget with the edge of your hoodie, your voice barely above a murmur. “I like the quiet.”
“Nah,” he teases with a soft smile, “you just like makin’ me lean in to hear you better.”
Your eyes flicker to his, catching that slow, knowing grin, like he already sees inside your mind. His
hand gently rests on the gearshift, so close it almost touches your thigh.
“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours? You look like you’re thinkin’ real hard.”
“Nothing,” you mutter, voice trembling.
He snorts, warm and amused. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
You shift in your seat, your eyes fluttering over the passing houses, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty swirling inside you.
(Your thoughts drift to images of his past affections— women with red lips and push-up bras. A montage flashes in your mind's eye of the many faces, vague yet distinct, you remember seeing beside him on the sun-drenched bleachers of your childhood, shadows stretching long as the games wore on. Never there for long, always gone before the next full moon.
A queasy sensation stirs deep within your stomach, a vortex of self-doubt beginning to blossom—)
He presses his hand gently yet firmly on your thigh again. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly but with an unmistakable intensity. “Don’t make me guess.”
“What am I to you?” Your voice trembles with a blend of hope and apprehension, afraid but desperate to understand.
He stiffens for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face before he relaxes, a slow, sure smile spreading across his lips. “You’re my girl,” he declares with quiet certainty, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Thought that much was clear.”
But a pang of worry presses into your chest. “But you're gonna get bored with me soon.”
“That’s what got you in a strop? God, baby, you think I’ll ever get tired of you?” His chuckle is tender, almost amused, as he turns his gaze back to the road. “Never met a girl like you, sweetheart. Oughta know that by now.”
He turns to look at you, stroking your hair as he runs a red light. “God, you’re so easy to look at. Got those beautiful, big eyes. I love when the light hits ‘em.”
A heat blooms in your stomach. He makes you boil, always a simmering feeling in your stomach.
I like it when you look at me, you admit softly, almost hypnotised by his attention.
He laughs a little, a warm, if teasing, sound. “Aww, you like it when I pay you attention, huh? You like being looked at by a grown man, don’t you?”
Your nose crinkles ever so slightly, trying to dismiss the teasing tone. “Don’t say it like that. You’re not old.”
A knowing smile graces his face, laced with a hint of roguish intent. “I’m gonna be goin’ grey soon, sweetheart. Not the young buck I used to be,” he says quietly, but his eyes linger on you with unwavering admiration.
You shake your head, a gentle defiance. “I don’t mind. I like it,” you whisper, feeling that fiery warmth ignite within you.
“Course you do, baby. You like anything I do,” he murmurs, turning up the radio. Like a faithful canine, you respond to his beckoning whistle, positioning yourself at his feet, eternally devoted.
He pulls into a secluded park, a quiet woodland that feels like a hidden sanctuary. The sky above is shrouded in darkness, stars marbling across it. The trees part just enough to reveal Lake Maria, a sacred place of childhood memories, flooding back with a fierce, aching clarity— moments of innocence and wonder that never really faded.
The lake stretches out before you, a glossy, obsidian mirror. The engine hums softly, a steady, comforting pulse in the stillness, as he pauses, caught between past and present.
“You know what I’ve noticed, sweetheart? The city did somethin’ to you.” As he breaks the silence, he tips his head, giving you a once-over that’s bold, but not crude. “You walk different. Talk smoother.”
You fiddle with a loose hem on your top. “I think I just got used to not havin’ men in boots hoverin’ over me.”
He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. “You wound me, sweetheart. Thought you might’ve missed me a little in the city.”
You’re a delicate instrument, and Eren wants to know if he can still remember how to play you, how to tune you to his liking.
You surrender to his disarming smile.
You breathe in. “I did.”
Eren huffs out a quiet laugh and lets his head fall against the window. “I missed you, too.”
You breathe out. “Really?”
He grins. “Of course, I did.”
He slowly leans across the console, “What,” he murmurs softly, “You don’t believe me?”
You squirm in your seat, flustered by his unwavering gaze. His eyes are low, and swimming with mirth. He cradles your face in his hand, and your eyes flutter shut when he drags his nose along your jaw.
Your breaths are shallower now. You tilt your head sideways, facing him, and tentatively press your forehead to his. He’s rendered you breathless within minutes. You are drowning in him, his sight, his scent, his touch— you can’t talk, let alone breathe, not when he’s taking up all the space in the car.
All notions of reconciliation are abandoned when he presses a fleeting kiss to the shell of your ear, and then whispers, Think I didn’t miss my little girl?
Slowly, he raises a hand, his fingers a dark silhouette against the dim light, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers trail down, a whisper against your skin, brushing your jaw, your throat.
The touch is featherlight, a silent prayer. He leans, and the scent of him— something woodsy and clean— fills your senses as his lips meet yours. Softness, warmth, a gentle pressure. He cups your face, fingers curving along your nape, holding you. Your lips tingle. Breath puffs, a visible cloud.
His eyes gleam, a hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, dragging it down, the slick slide of his thumb against the wet inside, then over your top lip. Just a baby, aren’t you?
A furrow etches itself between your brows as you shake your head in denial, yet a subtle, knowing smile pulls at the corners of his lips.
With firm insistence, he guides the back of your head, coaxing you into an almost unwilling nod. Yeah, you are. My pretty baby, huh?
You want to argue, but the sight of him blurs the edges of your resolve, his fingers now tracing the delicate curve of your lips, drawing you back into the hot orbit of his kiss. His hands move to your thighs, urge you up and onto his lap. You stumble awkwardly, your knee pressing into his stomach, but he seems unfazed, gently helping you settle, thighs spread over him— a stretch that sends a faint ache through your inner thighs. His hands glide softly over the outside of them, soothing the nervous tremble that runs through your body.
He pulls back as he takes off your hoodie, his fingers fumbling at your breasts through the thin cotton of your delicate top. In one smooth, almost desperate motion, he removes it all, and a shiver runs down your spine, your bare abdomen meeting the cool air inside the truck. You instinctively cross your arms over your chest, trying to shield and warm yourself, but before you can hide, his strong hand captures your wrists. His grip is firm, with a commanding presence that pulls your hands away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.
Your hips press into his thigh, and you hitch a breath when the feeling of it flutters through you, a squirmy roll of your body at the soft-hardness of his muscles, how hot you are between your thighs, how good it feels, that little bit of friction against your cunt.
His hand, a deliberate explorer, moves across the landscape of your thigh, the pad of his thumb tracing a hot path along the inner curve, venturing beneath the modest hem of your shorts, where your moist heat lies. A single, audacious hand trails a path between your bodies, a thick finger like a brand, stroking languidly along your fabric-covered slit, applying gentle pressure to the soaked material cradling your swollen folds.
A whimper trips out of you, embarrassed at the way his thumb slips on your skin, but he shushes you, his other hand cradling the nape of your neck, gently coaxing you back into the embrace of his kiss.
His voice, a low murmur against your skin, is a tantalising blend of affection and mockery— S’alright, baby, you’re all wet, huh?
His thumb slips higher, along the edge of your cunt. Little cunt’s so needy, isn’t it?
You nod, kissing him again, tilting your head, eager for more. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, encouraging you to offer yourself to him, insistent, leading. Your eyes closed as you opened your mouth, allowing his tongue to slip inside, smoke and wood and danger, everything about him that was harsh against your softness.
Eager little thing, he mumbled against your mouth, followed by a breathy huff of amusement. I like that.
He pawed at your breasts, his calloused fingers rough on the delicate lace while teeth and lips and tongue clashed against yours. Under the insistent pressure of his kneading hands, your nipples responded, hardening into eager peaks, trying to reach his touch through the fabric. You let out another sound that was far more desperate than you had planned.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured before capturing your bottom lip between his teeth, a playful bite that advertised so much more to come. Deliberately, he elevated his thigh, pressing the solid plane of it intimately against your clothed vulva. “Now, go on.”
You didn’t need any more encouragement to slide your body forward over the solid muscle of his thigh. He offered himself willingly, a subtle roll of his hips inviting your own, heightening the friction against your clit. His hands, firm and knowing, grasped your ass, guiding and encouraging the rhythmic glide along his muscular leg. The tender flesh beneath your panties responded instantly— a renewed tide of wetness.
“So wet for me already, sweetheart?” he asked, voice gravelly and low. “We’ve barely even started.”
You had no reply except for a tight whine. Arousal gathered in your panties in a fresh flood of wetness as you continued to ride the flat of his thigh, soon leaving a damp spot on the thick canvas. Your fingers, desperate and seeking purchase, dug into the hard lines of his back; the powerful muscles beneath your hands were barely veiled by the dark T-shirt stretching across his wide chest.
Your hips rolled forward and back, pulling the thin material of your panties taut against the shape of you. A dark rumble of amusement vibrated within Eren’s deep chest.
Gonna cum, you whine, God, I’m so close.
“I know, baby, I know,” His hands slide over your thighs, knees spread a little wider at the width of his upper body, digging into his ribs.
He grunts as you gasp and tremble. He digs his free fingers into your ass cheeks, spreads them while you use him. And then your breaths are picking up, and your fingers tangle in his hair as you get desperate. Your holes squeeze on him, and you moan, Oh, fuck.
Wetness gushes onto his jeans, and you’re cumming. You lean forward, gasping for air, feeling the insistent pulsing of your cunt against his skin. He keeps rocking you as he rides your orgasm out of you.
“Mmm, ain't you just perfect? Didn't even have to touch you,” His voice is like gravel. His hands hold you against him, and your hands too weak to push against his shoulders as you quiver through your orgasm.
His fingers move over your stomach, downwards, until they reach the apex of your inner thighs. He hooks his fingers over the damp fabric covering your pussy, pulls your panties and shorts to the side, slow.
A soft, almost mouse-like whine escapes your lips, tinged with a blush of embarrassment, yet he silences it with a gentle shush. His other hand cradles the nape of your neck, coaxing you back into the heat of his kiss.
“Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly, bringing his hands to your hips to support you. “It’s just me. What do you have to be worried about?”
His fingers brush over your slit— finally a real touch. With agonising slowness, he guides his hand back between your thighs, his knuckles grazing against your clit, eliciting a pathetic whimper and a reflexive urge to close your legs. He doesn’t let you.
He grunts, a nearly inaudible sound. Keep them open.
You can’t. But he kisses your neck, his voice hot: Be a good girl, come on.
He’s hard beneath you, with the scratch of denim over his cock right under the leak of your cunt. He wraps one arm around your waist to steady you, resting one hand on your side, while he touches you with the other. A wordless whine tumbles from your lips, your head going foggy, dropping forward as he sinks a digit into you, long and thick. Your noses brush together, and he pushes deeper, and the air is thick with your quiet gasps. His mouth hovers just above your jaw as he sinks a finger completely inside you, and a tremor courses through your body. Your hands grasp desperately at his hair as he slowly and deliberately pumps his finger in and out, leaving you aching with an unbearable need to be filled, to draw him in deeper.
He chuckles, and then he presses another finger in, stretching you out around two. He gives them to you all the way, lets you take them to his knuckles, curling them forward, caressing that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
You open your mouth to beg for more, but your jaw goes slack— Eren rolls over your clit softly, rubbing little circles into it at the perfect speed, the perfect pressure. Just when your little gasps turn into quiet moans, Eren takes mercy on you and pushes his ring finger to the hilt. Eren answers your wide eyes and your little gasp with a hissing, sharp breath, marvelling at the way your walls cling to his finger, sucking him in when he slides out and back in again.
"Just like the first time," Eren murmurs, leaning down to take your collarbone between his teeth, "are you always this tight?"
“I– please, more, please.”
Eren smiles around the mouthful of your skin he has, feeling his heart swell at how cute and airy your words come out.
Eren, you breathe, a keening testament to the overwhelming pleasure.
“So tight, baby,” Eren says in awe, pulling his head back to watch as your cunt leaves little white streaks on his fingers, “so warm, can’t fuckin’ believe how good this pussy is.”
“P-please, I want you,” you sputter.
Eren works his fingers faster, can feel the fluttering of your cunt around his fingers. It’s so much all at once, you can’t think at all. Your mind empties, trembling against him as he hooks his fingers into you. As you feel the peak washing over you, the tide recedes as his fingers slow, almost entirely. He goes from pumping his digits within you to a slow, languid probing of your walls.
You thrash in his lap, tears glittering in your waterline. Eren thinks wildly that he might be falling in love with the little unshed tears that prick your eyes when you start to get close, the little broken pleas you give him.
What are you doing? I— I need to cum, Eren. Don’t stop.
He coos softly, his free hand securing your wrists behind your back as your body arches and twists against his lap.
Little more, baby. You’re alright.
His fingers pry, delving just a fraction deeper, reaching the spot that makes fireworks dance on your eyelids. Again, and again, and again, kneading it like a roll of sweet bread. He moulds your insides to his fingers, presses himself so deep into you, you won’t forget him. You hitch ragged breaths against his neck, high-pitched, whiny sounds that seem absurd to your own ears, the feeling and need swelling up like a hurricane and—
It’s different this time.
It's hotter, wetter, more sticky, this orgasm. It bypasses your stomach, bubbling up your throat and lighting up your spine. You pant, your body locking up in his lap, preparing for the climax.
Your face feels sticky and hot, and you cry out when you come again. You squirt in his lap, drenching his jeans, hand and thighs. Your mouth forms a silent scream, and your lungs seize, robbing you of breath for an eternity, until Eren's lips softly brush against your temple.
“There you go,” Eren mutters, his voice gravelly beneath you. “Good girl.”
He extracts his fingers gently, rubbing small circles on your clit. You pant into his chest, trying to catch your breath. His hand releases your wrists, and he smooths a hand over your hair.
"How was that, darlin'?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble vibrating against your scalp, the scent of him filling your senses. "That was a big one." His breath warms the strands of your hair.
"Really good," you manage, the word slurring slightly as you fight the delicious pull of sleep.
A pause hangs in the air, thick with unspoken questions.
Ever done that before?
You shake your head against his chest, a dizzying wave still washing over you, distorting the room's edges.
No, you haven't. Can’t take care of this baby pussy by yourself, can you? Need me to do it for you, yeah? Mmm, I know.
He peppers kisses along your hairline, each press a possessive brand. You burrow closer, forehead finding the rough cotton of his collarbone, escaping little puffs of air and stifled whimpers.
"Not a baby," you mumble, the words muffled by his shirt.
He chuckles, a sound that vibrates through your very bones, his large hand rhythmically stroking the length of your spine. "You sure? Barely fit three fingers inside, and you wanna act tough."
“I'm not acting.”
“Aren't you?” His voice dripped with sardonic amusement. “Because you snuck outta your room to see me tonight, ain't something a grown woman would do.” With his thumb and forefinger, he grabs the soft mounds of your cheeks, compressing them together in a gesture that is both belittling and tinged with cruel humour.
His scathing words wash over you as embarrassment blooms in your stomach and curls around your heart and squeezes.
(Did he see you as a woman, confident and self-possessed? A Madonna, pure and untouched? Or perhaps a painted whore, brazen and alluring? A flawless face gracing the glossy cover of a magazine, an object of fleeting desire?)
“What do I have to do, then? To become a woman?” you whisper.
A woman that you want.
His breath, warm and intoxicating, ghosts against your ear as he whispers: You have to let me fuck you, baby. Show you what it’s like to have a real man in you.
The contents of your stomach churn with trepidation and a hot anticipation.
“You want that?” His voice, quiet and stifled, is a mere breath against your skin, “You sure?”
You curl into him, eyes shining, mouth parting in a silent supplication.
Yes, Eren. Give me everything.
He takes a long, good gaze at you, his eyes raking over your form. He sees you trapped, a delicate bird ensnared beneath his corded arms, your gaze tilted upwards, meeting his through the veil of heavy-lidded eyes, dark lashes fluttering like wings against the skin of your cheeks. In response, his cock throbs with demanding urgency.
“Alright. I’m givin’ you what you wanted,” he grunts, the word rough and laden with exertion. The rasp of denim fills the air as he pushes his jeans down, followed by his boxers, revealing his erection springing forth, the hulking mass of his shaft pressing against his abdomen. A glistening crown of precum adorns the head of his cock. Your eyes trace the sight of it, head nestled beneath the rough shadow of his chin.
"You know what to do," he murmurs, voice thick with desire, his breath ghosting against your hair. "Be a big girl."
You spit in your palm, before pumping him. He exhales a guttural grunt, nipping at your neck in a fleeting kiss. His hand seals over yours on his cock, showing you how to touch him— a firmer grip, a little twist of your wrist and hand over the fat head. A long stroke down. His hand dwarfs yours; it makes your heart pound just as much as your fingers not touching around the thick of him does.
You emit a breathy whimper as he grinds his impressive length against your folds. He gently rolls his hips upwards, and his balls hit your round ass with a small plap. The head of his massive cock extends past your belly button, and Eren, gripping his shaft by the base, taps his tip against your navel, admiring the thin strings of precum that linger.
It's undeniably huge. Impossibly big. It won't fit in you.
His voice drips with sadistic enthusiasm when he drawls, “I’m gonna be in your stomach, baby. Can you take it?”
You bite the tip of your thumb, a little bubble of fear in your belly, an aborted denial lingering on your tongue.
Observing your expression, a shadow descends upon his gaze. “You want this, don’t you, baby? Want to be a big girl?” He presses a small, placating kiss to your neck, and you melt into his arms.
He tugs you up a little more as he sinks an inch lower in the seat. Your ass is all sticky and wet against his hips, but you're too distracted by the drag of his cock over your cunt, bumping against your little hole. A silent acknowledgement of his imposing size floods your thoughts, the head plump and swollen, your heart pounding as you pant for air.
Your head lolls forward onto his shoulder, and your eyes lock onto his with fear and adoration. He presses a quick kiss to your hairline and then your forehead.
With painstaking slowness, he presses his cock against your entrance, slowly, slowly, slowly pushing against that tight ring of muscle.
In the haze, you manage to stutter out: “Do you have a condom?”
His eyes flicker momentarily to meet yours, but he doesn't answer, before his hips begin to pulse upwards with growing urgency. Your nails dig instinctively into his shoulders, a desperate plea forming on your lips—
“Eren—”
His grin is a little too wide, too sharp. “I'll pull out. Promise, baby.”
His hand tightens, his cock pushing up in little pulses, bumping harder against your hole. A slight discomfort registers as his hips initiate a series of small thrusts, positioning the head of his cock directly against your delicate opening, causing you to instinctively brace yourself.
A little ow slips out of you, a hiccuped Eren, and he grunts into your ear, pushing a little harder and holding you tighter, his head pushing right up against her as the thickened shaft pulsates rhythmically— and then the fat head of his cock pops inside of you, with a small pop, like cracking open a can of cider.
That little half-gasp, half-moan when he pushes past your tight entrance, the feeling of you clenching on his dick, your gooey walls sucking him deeper as he eases into you—it’s overwhelming. You jolt and cry out, whole body tense and somehow quivering.
It's just his thick head tucked in your cunt. You’re all wet and stretched, and even through the film of tears blurring your vision, you can see the clenching and working of your cunt around him. A low groan emanates from his throat as he gently caresses the taut skin with his thumb.
Look at that, baby, splitting this sweet pussy open, aren’t I?
Inch, after inch, after inch slides into you. The pain pinches your eyebrows, and you claw at his shoulders. You curl your head under his jaw, watching him carve out a space for himself inside you. His girth throbs within you, pulsing at every whine and hiccup you give out.
So tight, so fuckin’ tight, baby. Perfect little cunt you have, you know that?
His hands grip your ass, and he impales you the last few inches down. The tendons in his neck strain against the dim glow of the car's interior, his Adam's apple a frantic rhythm against the stillness.
The eerie silence of the world around you fades into your ears, ringing when he slowly— agonisingly— begins thrusting. His cock drags along your walls perfectly with every precise roll of his hips. His groans echo around the car. The joint sounds of your ecstasy nearly drown out the lewd squelches between your legs.
You whimper, the stretch making you arch away from him, but the burst of pleasure makes you rock your hips into him.
Yeah, that’s it, you’re a big girl now, aren’t you? Riding my cock like that.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head when Eren hammers your g-spot. You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel your release begin to crest. Eren's warm breath ghosts across your neck, his murmured accolades weaving a hazy spell within your mind.
One hand finds purchase in the thicket of Eren's dark hair, fingers tangling in the strands. He turns and plants a wet kiss on your palm. His movements grow swift, shallow, a frantic rhythm as your inner muscles tighten around him, and you feel the car rock in time with his thrusts, and you sigh happily.
You want the whole town to know you’re getting fucked senseless. You want the world to know how good you’re getting it right now. Though now, your world has you spread on his lap like a fuckdoll and is pounding you like an animal.
A soft hiccup punctuates the air as Eren's teeth graze the flesh of your palm. "You alright, sweetheart? Been awful quiet." At your shaky affirmation, he presses moist lips to your cheek, the warmth of his smile imprinted upon your skin. He slides a hand down to your clit and begins rubbing it in small, quick circles. “No worries, I’ll have you screamin’ my name in no time.”
Your back arches as his thrusts pick up speed. Every thrust has your legs trembling and your voice cracking. Your eyes glaze over as his pace soars beyond the imaginable. Your hands dig into his biceps, and when you feel blood bead at the skin, he hisses in pleasure.
An intense curve forms in your spine as his thrusts escalate, a relentless rhythm causing tremors in your legs and fracturing your voice with each forceful entry.
Talk to me, baby. Tell me how good I’m givin’ it to you.
Oh, yes, mmm— oh God, yeah, so good, you manage to gasp out.
That’s right, baby. Those pencil-dicked college boys not good enough for you?
You confess: N-no. No one does it like you, Eren.
He throws his head back with a hearty groan. God, you don’t know what you do to him. Every time he thinks you’ve lured him in deep enough, he finds himself diving into you again, until he’s drowning in your wet, warm depths. His muscles strain against the confines of his shirt, his mouth hangs open, eyes fixated on the point of your shared pleasure. Visible beads of sweat line his brow, and damp tendrils of hair cling to his flushed temples.
Your gaze locks with his intense ultramarine stare once more. Your lashes flutter, and Eren presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead after brushing away the hair plastered to it.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, his voice a low, throaty rumble. "Who does this pussy belong to? Me?" You nod languidly, a slow, affirmative gesture, your body responding with involuntary shudders to the powerful, insistent rhythm of his thrusts. His hand holds one of your breasts, his palm firm as he applies a deliberate force.
He lowers his mouth to yours, and you wet your lips in anticipation. You gotta cum all over me then.
And you do. Ecstasy dances down your spine as you cry out his name. You squeeze your eyes shut as you clamp down on Eren’s cock. Brilliant bursts of white light explode behind your closed eyelids. You moan his name again and again and again, and he tells you he knows, he knows, he knows. Your arousal drips down his shaft, leaving a glistening trail past his balls and onto the padded leather beneath you both.
“Good girl,” he coos. He brings the fingers that were circling your clit to your mouth, and your tongue darts out to taste. A wave of warmth washes over you, your mind softly adrift, the edges of consciousness blurred by the lingering, sticky sweetness of satisfaction.
He expels a sharp breath, calloused hand gliding over your waist as you collapse against his broad chest, gasping for air, your body trembling with exertion.
"You've bitten off more than you can chew, ain’t you?" he rasps, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “Fuck an old man, and you don't even know what to do with yourself.”
He leans back, then gently flips you so you're resting against the seat. He shifts back, his gaze intense, before gently manoeuvring you so you recline against the worn leather of the seat.
You lie there panting, sweating, keening, as he rummages in the glovebox. A flash of cold, hard catches your eye as his shotgun rattles, before he pulls out a packet of cigarettes. He lights a Marlboro, the flame hooking onto his nose and the shadows pulling at his smile. He lets the cigarette dangle from his lips, smoke curling around his face.
“Hips,” he grunts. Then, with an exhale, he strips away your sopping shorts and delicate panties, leaving you completely bare.
He tilts his head, his gaze lingering on the wet smear between your thighs, taking a long drag. He groans, his cock throbbing above you. He gives you a once-over— the disarray of your hair, the flushed colour of your cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
“You can rest here, yeah? I'm gonna take a smoke outside.”
“No— aren’t— aren’t you going to fuck me again?” A desperate plea bubbles out of your throat.
He chuckles. “Ain't you tired yet? God help me.”
A sigh precedes the moment his hand gently cups your face, pressing your lips together into a soft, exaggerated pout, squishing your cheeks between his fingers. Well, look at you. Can't say no to that pretty face, can I?
He drops a swift, decisive kiss upon your lips. “Alright, baby.”
The overhead light switch clicks, flooding the truck cabin with a sombre, yellowish glow that casts long shadows. With a shrug, he peels off his sweat-soaked shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his torso. His heavy cock still pokes out from his jeans, slick with your heat. The low light catches the moisture on his skin, highlighting the sculpted lines of his body.
He inhales deeply from his cigarette, then lazily cups his hand around his erection; it’s already dripping, but he spits on his hand anyway. Slides his fist over the throbbing length of it, before leaning his weight on the arm of the chair. Still languidly stroking himself, he guides his erection towards your eager, fluttering hole.
Your entrance is tight, tiny, as he slots the head of his dick against it.
Don't know what you're getting into, baby, he murmurs. Too brave for your own good.
His strong hands weave into the strands of your hair, a tight grip yanking your head downward, coercing your gaze to travel the length of your body. Bathed in the cabin’s hazy, yellow light, you see the smear of cream adorning his skin, the throbbing, swollen, crimson head of his cock, and the rapid, uncontrollable fluttering of your eager, wet hole.
Distantly, you hear—
Eyes here, sweetheart. Want you to see how slutty you are.
—and he presses himself into you again.
You can hear the anticipation in his voice this time as he pushes inside, and you know he’s going to give it to you deep.
The moisture of your arousal slickens his member, easing his way through the initial resistance. But it’s still not all the way in; there’s still so much of him visible when you feel a pinch. The blunt nudge of his head bumping your cervix— that perfect pain— makes you gasp, makes your toes curl.
Is this what you wanted, baby? You want me to give you the whole thing? Yeah? You wanna take my cock deep?
A gasp escapes, a plea woven with need: Yeah, don't stop, don't stop.
And then he’s putting a big hand on your stomach, pressing down on it as he pushes forward, coaxing: Oh, fuck, baby, I’m so deep in you. That’s a good girl, take it all the way.
When he pulls back out, the light reflects on the slick coating of his dick, makes it glisten. Each viscous movement, each sticky collision, is a testament to your need. It feels so wet, sounds so sticky. You can see how tight you are— the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.
The initial sharp sting is less pronounced, smoothened by the slick of your walls, but not any less deep. His thrusts are powerful and deep from the start, ramming into you with little regard. You feel his tip smash your cervix, the pain blossoming up your spine and behind your eyes.
He continues to plunge the entire length of his cock within you, again and again, each forceful push accompanied by a guttural grunt.
"Spoiled brat," he exhales roughly, “you always get what you want, don’t you?”
Your lips part involuntarily, releasing a series of small, breathy whimpers and involuntary hiccups. Eren chuckles, and he extracts his smouldering cigarette from his own lips, gently placing it between yours. You take a deep breath, the acrid smoke filling your lungs, and breathe it all out with his name.
And what do you want now, huh? Want me to make you cum?
A little nod.
His fingers wrap around your throat. Not tight. Just enough to feel your pulse hammer and cunt clench. The sensation is so profound that he audibly grinds his teeth. Above you, he hisses— a sharp inhale as everything gets tighter.
He memorises your face while he sinks his cock into you, buries himself deep. The overhead lights cast a stark glow, illuminating the dance of your fluttering eyelids. As you moan, he squeezes your throat some more. Tighter, enough to make your voice come out breathy and black fuzz around your peripheral.
Your mouth falls open in a perfect, pornographic ‘o’. The lit cigarette tumbles out of your mouth, a glistening strand of saliva momentarily tethering it to your mouth.
He keeps his hand on your throat even when his mouth meets yours. Cigarettes and honey on his tongue, and then on yours. He fucks you with his mouth on yours, asking if you can feel him in your tummy. Then he thrusts hard into you over and over and over again, filling up your throbbing, aching insides until you’re teary-eyed and sniffling.
You take it all the way— past that pinching feeling that makes your toes curl and tears prick at your eyes, past the jarring impact against your cervix. He’s panting, squeezing your throat harshly, fucking you so hard that the wet slaps of skin on skin eclipse the radio.
“Just— like— that,” you gasp breathily between thrusts, looking up at him. He doesn’t even look like the same person anymore. Muscles coil and flex beneath his taut skin, his abdomen rippling with each crippling stroke. His hair falls out of his loose bun. His big, verdant eyes are half-lidded, sleepy with arousal, and his teeth are bared. He’s just fucking you like he’s starved for your body. It’s so hot to see him like this, dominating you like all of that kind older brother was only ever an act.
Right there, fuck, right there, he pants.
God, you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Been waiting for you to grow up for so long.
Oh, God—
You feel the twitching start in the arches of your feet, and then all the tension in your core is released at once. The first seismic wave of pleasure rolls through your body, then another, and another. Your pussy clenches, unclenches, and flutters around his dick as your cum gushes out on him.
The intensity is almost unbearable, a delicious agony that brings stinging tears to your eyes. You can't stifle the raw, fractured cries that erupt from you with each perfectly placed thrust, the pain of his deep, relentless fucking only amplifying the pleasure.
The pain of him fucking you so deep, sharpening the pleasure until you’re feeling so good that you can’t even hold your head up to watch. Overwhelmed, you can no longer support your head, allowing it to fall back against the seat. You let it drop back down on the seat, let your limbs go limp and heavy, and he takes care of the rest— fucking as many contractions out of you as your body can take.
He’s never felt something this good before. And nothing has ever been as intoxicating as your cries of pure bliss: I'm cumming, I'm cumming.
He wants to make it last: he needs to keep hearing you moan, keep feeling you cum. So he keeps fucking you into the seat until your loud moans devolve into quiet gasps for air.
He releases his hold on your throat, and pulls your knees onto his shoulders. You can barely breathe like this, folded in half, flat on your back, as he starts plunging his cock into you again— so hard and deep that your ears start ringing.
Hot tears stream down your flushed face as one earth-shattering orgasm throbs through you, barely ending before the next one crashes over. He relentlessly pounds into you, each thrust igniting another explosive climax; he does it over and over, makes you cum so many times he loses count. They’re all blending together, your whimpers filling his head, your squirt and his cum everywhere.
"You're too big, Eren," you manage to gasp, your voice laced with both pleasure and exhaustion, each syllable punctuated by a blissful moan.
You squirm a little each time he bottoms out, but he keeps your legs pinned against your chest easily. He’s barely letting you move an inch.
“Aren’t you getting what you wanted?” he grunts, his voice rough with exertion as he slams into you, each thrust deliberate and forceful. “You asked me to fuck you, right?”
Your reply is a tearful, fervent nod. So he continues to give you just what you asked for. He dominates you, fucking you brutally until your whole body is tensing up again.
“You want me to fuck a load into you?” he groans softly.
You shake your head hazily. A silent plea escapes you, a denial formed in the depths of your mind.
No, you can't—
You can barely even talk, because you’re feeling the pleasure start to rise in you again. Your toes are curling. His eyes capture every nuance: the slight parting of your lips, the distant look in your eyes. And he knows you’re about to cum.
What's that, baby? Can't hear you.
His thrusts are getting faster, messier, harder. You want to tell him to stop, that he can’t cum in you, you're not on birth control, but the curve of his cock is hitting just right, splitting your convulsing walls open, and the tip pummels into that some sweet, sensitive spot deep inside. Your body contorts beneath him, back arching, eyes rolling back as you approach that sweet release, and it sounds so distant when he says, lazily, I’m gonna cum in you, baby. Fuck.
His cum comes in jets, a growing fullness as he shoots rope after rope of hot, sticky cum into you. Each thrust has it spilling out around his cock, and you’re just watching vaguely, riding your high as he fucks up into you harshly, dick all coated in his cum. The thick white liquid, tinged pink with your blood, spills out of your pussy, drips down the sides of his dick, pooling at the seat of your ass. He impales you, murmuring fuck, fuck, fuck, until he’s all done, until you’ve just finished convulsing around his girth.
He stays deep until you’re both done, and when he pulls out— looking down, breathing hard— his cock is glistening, a mess of your cum and his— a little white surge leaking from the tip and dripping onto your stomach.
“Look at that, baby. Such a messy girl you are, hm?” His tone is a husky murmur. He scoops up a fingerful of rosy-tinged cum, and coaxes it back into you.
As you come back to your senses, you squirm on the seat, sweaty, tired, and most of all, really upset.
You didn't want him to finish in you, and he promised he would pull out. You attempt to deflect his touch, your brows furrowing deeply. Eren notices your discontent, responding with a sharp pinch to your thigh.
“Don't give me that look, sweetheart. I’ll get you a plan B on the drive home, yeah?” He presses a series of appeasing kisses across your cheeks and brow, aiming to pacify your agitation. His hands glide along your waist, the soft flesh moulding beneath his touch. “Just couldn’t help it, baby. You were squeezin’ me so tight.”
“You promised you would pull out.” You try to push him away, feebly attempting to create distance.
“Yeah, and I also watched you promise that you would never let any man touch you back at youth camp. But things change, don't they, sweetheart?”
He chuckles at the look of shame and indignation on your face, “But you took it so well, baby. Took me so deep,” he murmurs, his voice a husky caress, his hand rubbing small circles into your clit. “Bet no ones ever been that deep in you before.”
You squirm, hot under his attention and fingers. You shake your head, breathlessly.
He tenderly strokes your cheek, his eyes crinkling with affection, “No? But you're a champ, baby. A real big girl. ‘M proud of you.” He seals his praise with a lingering, open-mouthed kiss, and it feels like you've won the lottery.
He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then sucks a nipple into his mouth, releasing it with a wet pop. You sigh, your eyes drooping. “You good, baby? Got all that attitude outta you now?”
A happy hum is your only answer.
“Good. Because I'm all outta stamina.” You giggle at him, and he responds by blowing a playful raspberry against the curve of your neck. It makes you squeal and shriek with laughter. He drops a last kiss to your mouth before saying,
Cmon, baby, let's get you home.
The drive to the gas station is filled with quiet contentment. After Eren cleans you up with a grease-stained car rag— sorry, darlin’, it's all I've got— he redresses you with a delicate sweetness, carefully placing me back into the passenger seat, finishing with a playful, heavy pat on my head. The vintage truck cruises down the desolate roads, the vast landscape blurring into streaks of colour as we speed by, windows down, and your hair whipping in your face.
The dull sting between your thighs is a gold medal to you— evidence of your metamorphosis.
You’re a woman now. His woman.
Overjoyed, you impulsively prop my sock-clad feet onto the sun-baked dashboard.
Eren's eyes flicker over to yours. “Feet off the dash, sweetheart,” he commands gently.
Why? You pout.
Eren sighs, a loving exasperation colouring his tone. “‘Cause I said so, sweetheart. Go on now, don't make me pull over.”
The truck rumbles to a stop at the gas station. An eerie blue light of dawn casts long shadows across the forecourt. Eren firmly locks the truck into park, before decisively shoving his door open.
“You keep that ass in line, you hear me?” he warns as his hand cups your cheek, the callouses of his skin rough on your skin.
You nod obediently, his rogue finger slipping teasingly into the corner of your mouth. His pupils dilate in response, and then he deliberately pulls his thumb out, smearing a glistening trail of saliva across your swollen, kiss-bitten lips.
“Alright, baby. Don't miss me too much,” he murmurs huskily, his voice rough with affection. With a final lingering look, he pops the truck door open, swings his muscular legs over the threshold of the worn seat, and strides purposefully towards the brightly lit convenience store attached to the gas pumps.
The gas station hums under flickering fluorescent lights, and you’re half-dozing in the passenger seat, bare legs propped on the dash, windows rolled halfway down. A chorus of crickets fills the balmy darkness.
Eren swings the driver’s door open with a soft creak. He drops into his seat, tosses a small bag into your lap, jolting you awake.
You blink down, opening the bag timidly. A small bottle of water, a pack of morning-after pills and—
Peach rings.
“You remembered?” you murmur, fingers brushing over the crinkled plastic.
He shrugs, grinning at you. “You used to eat ’em by the handful. Sucked all the sugar off first like a maniac.”
You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “Didn’t think you’d remember that.”
“I remember a lot more than you think.” His voice is low, but there’s something hot under it. He’s still not looking at you.
You pull one out and pop it in your mouth. It’s sweet and a little sour— tastes like the past. He glances over again. Smirks.
“See? Still your favourite.”
You chew it slowly, savouring the nostalgic taste. Everything’s changed, but it's all still the same. Eren lights a Marlboro, and smokes it out the window.
(He's standing outside the gym, waiting for you and Mikasa to finish your swimming lessons. The sun is blazing, forcing you to squint against its glare to make out his form. His hat is on backwards, and his tshirt had the sleeves cut off. You’re still dripping, the lingering scent of chlorine clinging to your skin, a hasty pair of shorts concealing your swimsuit beneath.
Mikasa, a whirlwind of energy, burst ahead of you from the gym, launching herself directly into his arms. A warm, hearty chuckle rumbled from his chest as he pressed a kiss into her dark hair, then ruffled your own as you reached his side.
“You promised you would let me ride shotgun today!” You tug at Eren's arm, your voice colored with anticipation.)
You rip open the Plan B, swallow the small pill, and wash it down with water, alongside the guilt reappearing in your stomach.
Mikasa was probably still asleep, dreaming of you, Jean, that new car that she wanted. And where were you? Dripping with her brother’s cum.
You can feel his eyes on the side of your face. You shake off the guilt, shoving another peach ring into your mouth.
“Ready to head home, sweetheart? I oughta tuck you into bed now.” His words float to you through a cloud of smoke.
The thought of sneaking past Mikasa’s room again, hearing her little snores drift to you in the hall—
—feeling the burn of Eren’s hands on your throat, the stretch of his cock. Your new womanhood, forged in the fires of desire and need, your stomach molten with want.
(He laughs, a full belly one. “I did, didn't I?” he admitted, seemingly impervious to Mikasa's crestfallen expression, and extended a hand to swing open the passenger door for you with a flourish. “Well, you ready to go?”)
tags : brief Mikasa x Reader, Modern AU, Inspired by southern America, Coming of Age, Summer, Mentions of wealth, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Best Friend’s Brother, Age Gap, Older Man/ Younger Woman, Eren is early 30s, You and Mikasa are early 20s, Underage Kissing, Fingering, Outdoor Sex, Oral Sex, Minor Intox, Minor Dubcon.
summary : Lilacs, particularly light purple ones, are often associated with the initial emotions and excitement of first love. White lilacs are often seen as symbols of purity and youthful innocence.
read on ao3
notes : hi !!!! this is my first fic , and i’ve been thinking about it forever . i hope u all enjoy and part 2 is coming soon <333
part i : cottonmouth
The June heat is oppressive, relentless in its fury; a thick, heavy, orange haze hangs in the air, oozing over you like burnt honey— thick, sickeningly sweet. Clinging to your skin, turning your breath sluggish. You're stretched out on a sun-drenched lounger; Mikasa’s head resting softly in your lap, her sunglasses slipping down the gentle slope of her nose, a dog-eared copy of Bonjour Tristesse idling on her hip. You stroke her hair gently, twirling the dark strands around your fingers. Thick, inky, sleek against her alabaster skin, like a Russian doll. The cicadas scream, and somewhere, on the edge of the world—
Clang. Clang. Clang.
—the distant sounds of life persist, faint and insistent.
Her voice floats to you through the haze. Ugh, I need to reapply my sunscreen, dreamlike, barely there. A quick, smacking kiss to your cheek, gone before it lands, and she disappears inside, light on her feet like she’s dancing.
Noon.
The hour of heatstroke, the Lord’s Prayer, and bodies half-asleep in their own sweat. You exhale, slow and lazy, like the sun’s wrung all the urgency out of you, leaving you floating in a shimmering, exhausted haze.
(“It’s time to pray, sweetheart,” your mother gently hummed as she plaited your hair—)
Your arm drapes across your eyes. One leg bent lazily, the other trailing off the edge of the lounger, toes wiggling in time with the cicadas. Sunlight bathes your skin in a slow, golden embrace, its warm fingers catching in the hollow of your throat, accentuating the gentle dip of your belly button. The heat caramelises you, turning your skin bronzy and warm. You stretch, arms overhead, a soft sigh slipping from your lips like the heat has kissed you.
(—“the Devil’s lurking outside, waiting to come get the people who keep working, drinking, or dawdling,” your mother’s voice echoes, a whisper of warning carried on the summer air.)
You’ve come back all grown up.
It’s so, so hot. You’re melting, just a pat of butter sliding over a stack of pancakes. The radio thrums low on the table next to you, grainy with static, some old station lost in the heat.
Well, say it ain’t so.
Some low, rumbling voice ropes you out of your slump. That lazy southern drawl like molasses, seeps into your bones; no, you recognise him—
By the weight of his footfalls across the creaking deck. By the sharp ozone scent of sweat and sun-warmed denim. By that presence, like something just walked out of a memory you tried to forget.
—before you even lift your head.
His image ripples in the heatwaves, blurred at the edges, like a picture scribbled outside the lines, unfinished and flickering. The kind of figure you might dream up in the haze of a fever, too lucid to be real and yet… there. Solid. Heavy. Tall, with muscle that stretches tight beneath umber skin, all golden and tanned like he’d been carved straight from sandstone.
Like an oasis in a desert, Eren startles you; water in your lungs, biting into a cold pear with sunburned lips. His lakewater eyes flash as he stares at you, hungry and indulgent. His shock of hair, long, loose, dark, clings to his jaw and neck, sticky with sweat, and he looks like a summer mirage.
Not soft.
Not sweet.
But clean in the way that comes after fire, like something new clawing its way out of ash.
Eren, you said his name like it was a dare, soft and drawn out.
Ain’t seen you in so long, I half-thought I was dreamin’ again.
That white shirt clings to his frame, damp across the chest, chain catching the light like it means to blind you. Planting a steady hand on the headboard of your sunbed, he leans in, dangerously close, enough that his necklace sways between you both, pendulum-smooth, like he’s hypnotising you. Eren’s leaning over you, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.
How you doin’, sugar? Must’ve been months since I last saw you, huh? His voice is warm honey, poured over gravel, slightly hoarse from Marlboro smoke. You here for the summer?
You nod, breathless.
He tuts low under his breath, glancing toward the house. You got sweet folks waitin’ at home for you, and you out here runnin’ wild. A pause. City treat you well?
You don’t trust your voice, so you nod again.
Mikasa leave you out here all by your lonesome? His voice curls around you like smoke, he tsks. Dangerous for a girl like you. Need me to babysit you, kid?
You scrunch your nose, petulant: Don’t call me that. I don’t need looking after.
He chuckles. Mm, I remember when you couldn’t even tie your own swimsuit, he whispers, his voice dripping nostalgia. His fingers brush your shoulder. Just a flicker. Then, with maddening ease, he slips a finger beneath your bikini strap, peels it back slow, inspects that delicate, sun-kissed tan line beneath— the elastic snaps back with a sound that cracks like lightning.
(“Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop,” your mother whispers with a tremor in her voice. “You must pray fiercely, and stand firm against every evil and temptation he throws your way.”)
He leans in, voice just above a whisper.
Used to help you with your homework, remember that? You’d sit on the porch swing and spell out your vocab words.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, Now look at you.
Your throat tightens—
You with homework and shy glances; him, barefoot on the porch with a beer bottle and a laugh like thunder. You were naive, stupid, so foolish for the way your heart jolted wildly in your chest every time he looked your way. And you're still stupid, still falling, still unravelling at the thought of him.
You swallow, trembling as you muster your voice. I’m not a little girl anymore.
Oh, darlin’, he murmurs, voice caught somewhere between reverence and desire. Don’t I know it? His knuckle traces the curve of your cheek, gentle as the breeze.
The back door creaks open.
(“But, Mama?” You kneel between her legs, the rough carpet biting into your thighs, your voice trembling with conviction. “I know what the Devil looks like. I won’t let him trick me.”)
Tell me, doll, he says, leaning in, quieter now. Thumb brushing against your lower lip. You still got those manners, or did the city smooth all that sweetness outta you?
“What the hell, Eren?” Mikasa’s voice cuts sharply and suddenly across the heat: “Quit harassing her!”
“I ain’t doin’ nothin’ of the sort, Mikasa. Just sayin’ hello,” he says without turning, still holding eye contact with you.
“Say it somewhere else.” Mikasa snaps, her voice firm and impatient.
He straightens, all mock innocence. He clicks his tongue, not quite offended, not quite apologetic. “Is that any way to talk to your brother?”
And just like that, he’s leaving. You watch him saunter off, all boots and swagger and sun-drunk charm. You’re left in the heat, the silence, and the ghost of his voice curling like smoke in your chest.
Mikasa doesn’t respond; she just tilts her head toward you slightly, lips parted like she might say something and never does. The light hits her dark hair and makes it gleam blue, like oil dancing on water. Your stomach flips, and you close your eyes again.
(She sighs deeply, her eyes filled with a mixture of worry and love as she brushes a hand gently over your face. “He’s closer than you realise,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “He wears a smile like lightning, his tongue moves like quicksilver. Don’t let the devil take you dancing, sweet girl. You’ll twirl all the way to Hell’s doorstep, and no one will come to save you— not even me.”)
And as you lift your gaze once more, you see him at the end of the porch, watching you with that same slow, wicked smile that makes your blood run cold.
“Don’t be a stranger, sweetheart,” Eren drawls, his voice low and tempting. “I’ll be seein’ you around.”
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The sun’s sitting high and mean in the sky, white-hot and blinding. You lean heavily against the kitchen sink, surrendering yourself to the cool glass of lemonade in your hand, ice already melted down to weak sweetness.
Out the window, Eren is there— working tirelessly on his truck. Its bold red paint, once vibrant, now faded and sun-bleached at the hood. He built it himself, pouring his heart into every bolt, every inch. You can still remember the way he taught you to drive stick in that very vehicle, pride lighting up his eyes.
Now, shirtless under the blazing sun, his shoulders are tanned and tough, glistening with sweat that catches the light like tiny stars. His hair curls in wild, carefree tangles from the heat, and his back muscles ripple as he works with fierce focus. The engine’s wide-open, he’s wrist-deep in grease; hands smudged with the dark, sticky truth of hard work, dirt smudged along his jaw. Every few moments, he wipes the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt, but he never bothers to put it back on. You press your thighs together, your stomach burning.
You know you shouldn’t be watching. But you can’t tear your eyes away.
And then, as your breath catches, he looks up. Like he felt your gaze, like he’s been waiting for you to notice.
You freeze, your lemonade hovering mid-sip, heart pounding loud in your chest.
He grins, easy, confident, and tosses his rag aside. You hurriedly turn to rinse your glass, pretending you weren’t staring, but the kitchen door creaks softly behind you, giving away that you’re anything but subtle.
Heavy boots. The whir of the ceiling fan.
“Hey, sweetheart,” a whistle, calling you to his feet, like a dog. And it makes you keen, drool, pant.
“Hi,” you whisper, voice trembling. You chew your lip, but that nervous flutter in your stomach only grows stronger. Now he’s closer, close enough that you can catch the faint, intimate scent of soap on his skin, the musk of summer heat, a hint of mint, all things that make your pulse race.
Then: Hotter than the devil’s mouth out there, his voice breathless, yet easy, as if he’s unfazed by the sweltering world outside.
You respond with a guarded hum, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the loose hem of your shirt, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
His grin widens, eyes gleaming with something unspoken. Saw you watchin’, he says, his voice laced with a quiet challenge.
Your face flushes instantly, a wave of embarrassment and something deeper flooding through you. “I was not,” you whisper, voice trembling.
“You were,” he insists, crossing his arms, his biceps flexing with a quiet strength that makes your breath catch. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with lookin’, sweetheart. Just surprised you ain’t comin' out to say hi no more.”
Your gaze drops to your trembling hands, shame and longing swirling inside you. “You were busy,” you mumble, barely able to meet his gaze.
“Not that busy,” he counters softly, his eyes softening, yet still holding that undeniable weight.
A heavy silence falls between you, thick with unspoken emotions. The hum of the fan above seems deafening now; a bead of sweat traces a slow path down your spine, stirring feelings you can't quite name.
You used to run out there the moment you heard the engine roar, he murmurs, voice rumbling.
He pushes off the counter, closing the distance between you. His eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes your heartbeat thunder in your ears.
“That was a long time ago,” you whisper, your voice quiet.
“Not that long,” he replies, but your heart feels the weight of all the time lost in that simple phrase.
He leans past you to grab a cold bottle of beer from the fridge. The brush of his chest against your arm is deliberate. So is the way he opens the bottle with the edge of the counter, flicking the cap into the sink.
“You always been this quiet?” he smirks, voice just above a whisper.
Yeah.
He chuckles softly, a warm, low sound that lingers in the air. “Mm,” he murmurs. “That right?” He takes a drink, his eyes locking onto yours over the bottle, intense and unreadable. “No need to be so frigid. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
You bite your lip, hesitant.
Friends?
“Yeah,” you finally whisper.
He nods, and there’s a sudden darkness in his smile, a slow-burning smoulder that makes your heart race. “Good,” he says softly, his voice tinged with something more, something dangerous. “You got a boyfriend?”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “What?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing. “Just askin’. No city boys lined up to take you dancin’? No sweet-talker to chase you home?” He leans back against the counter, letting silence stretch between you like a fragile thread. “You can tell me, sweetheart. I won’t run off and tell your mama, cross my heart.”
That teasing promise stirs something deep within you, and a genuine giggle escapes. “I don’t.”
“Mikasa mentioned someone… Reiner, maybe?”
Oh. Your cheeks flush. “That’s– we– we’re not–”
“Ah.” His eyes light. “Gotcha. What happened to loverboy?”
It’s hard to admit, but you reply softly, “It’s– we’re not seeing each other anymore.”
He doesn’t smile. Not exactly. But something relaxes in his shoulders, like your answer was the first sip of a cold drink on a hot day.
“Good,” he says. Then, after a beat: I mean, I’m sorry.
You’re not.
Your lips twitch. His do, too.
I’m not, he admits, voice softer now, rough with something like hope. But I’m tryin’, darlin’. God knows I am.
He’s watching you again. Eyes all heavy-lidded and hooded, like he’s not just looking at you but through you. You wonder if he can feel how fast your heart’s beating; wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, standing too close, speaking too soft.
“Are you always this nosy with your friends?” you ask, trying to hide the tremor in your voice.
He smiles, slow and crooked. “Only the ones wearin’ my favourite perfume.”
You look away, heat blooming under your skin, blooming lower in your stomach. The sunshine is warm, but it isn't what’s making you sweat.
He takes another swig of beer, hissing a little through his teeth, shaking his head as it bit him back. Silence laps between the two of you, soft and warm. Crickets hum beyond the fence. The sun spills in through the curtains, and his eyes, green, unreadable, glow just faintly in the low light. Your mouth parted just the tiniest bit while you stared, soft and pink and kissable.
You’re not sure who leans in first. Maybe you both do. It’s a magnet, a pull, a gravity you can’t explain, faces close enough to feel the breath between you.
A sharp breath—
Wouldn’t be right, he mutters, syllables hoarse. Not like this. Not while you’re still tryin’ to figure out what you want. He exhales through his nose.
Your throat tightens. What if you already know?
He steps back before you can reply. His boots leave scuff marks on the floor as he walks back toward the porch. He doesn’t look back.
Just says, over his shoulder:
Don’t wear that perfume unless you mean it.
And then he’s gone.
By the time the immediate shock had softened into memory, a few short weeks had passed. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over everything when Mikasa's voice cuts through the quiet—
The blackberries, Eren, they're coming back in! Please, take us to the field!
—pleading, her eyes shining with longing and excitement, as if this simple moment is a treasured escape.
Eren scoffs, the smoke from his cigarette curling into the air, his voice laced with irritation. “I ain't your damn chauffeur anymore, Mika. You can drive yourself.”
She huffs, her voice waning just a little with desperation. “I don’t have my license yet, you know that. Please, please take us.” Her eyes plead with unspoken emotion.
He grunts, trying to be indifferent, but there's a flicker of resignation. “I’m a grown man. I can’t babysit you and your—” his gaze drifts over you, and he presses his hand to his crotch awkwardly, as if trying to hide his frustration. “Your friend all day. I got things to do.”
“Fridays are your days off! Please, just this once. We really want to go,” Mikasa's voice wavers with earnestness, tugging at his shirt, her eyes searching his face for a glimmer of compassion.
He sighs deeply, his expression softening as he turns to look at you. “Do you want to go?” His voice is gentle, tinged with hesitation and a quiet resignation.
You nod, twirling your hair nervously, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, it would be fun.” Your words are filled with a fragile excitement.
He rubs his hand over his face, the weight of his decisions evident, yet he can’t resist the pleading in your eyes. The moment lingers in the air, heavy with unspoken feelings.
Finally, he breathes out sharply, his tone tinged with reluctant affection: Get my fucking keys, Mikasa.
Your car journey feels endless yet impossibly brief; Mikasa sitting beside Eren in the front, delicately reapplying her lipstick in her compact mirror, her presence a gentle ritual that ignites a tender warmth within you.
You lean against the window, your gaze fixed on the rural tapestry of the world sliding past: the vibrant lilies and delicate hydrangeas, the cosy diner tucked among the sprawling Tuscan-style homes.
These sights are more than scenery—
Eren drives with a calm confidence, one hand steady on the wheel, the other softly tapping to the beat of the song that stirs the air. At a red light, he subtly reaches behind his seat, his fingers gliding gently along your calf, an unspoken gesture full of affection and reassurance. The surprise flickers across your face as your eyes meet his reflected in the rearview mirror; his wink is a secret shared between us, a promise amid the silence. Suddenly, the light blares green, and his hands swiftly find their place on the wheel, grounding you in the present.
—they are fragments of home, woven into the fabric of your soul.
Together, you and Mikasa wander the fields with a woven basket, laughter spilling freely as you swat at playful bugs, your joy echoing through the trees. The woods are a wild sanctuary, thick brambles bursting with ripe berries, sticky juice staining your fingertips, a messy, beautiful reminder of the bounty of life. You both bend and pick amidst the wilderness, sunlight filtering through leaves, casting golden shadows on your skin, thorns grazing your arms; each moment a testament to your shared adventure, raw and alive, pulsating with the heartbeat of an unbreakable bond.
You’re left wandering the fields by yourself as Mikasa wanders off a bit further to find some larger berries.
It gnaws at you, pitting your stomach like a pomegranate, that you secretly crave her brother.
You've known each other through every twist and turn, your hearts intertwined from the very beginning.
The guilt wounds you. How could you betray her trust, hide your feelings behind her back?
(“You're my very best friend, you know," she whispers as she paints your fingers a deep, cobalt blue. A flicker of emotion lights up her eyes as she confesses, "Sometimes, I honestly feel like we're destined to be sisters.”)
Yet, deep inside, you know: there’s no one else it could be.
He’s tall, strong, irresistibly handsome, and funny in that way only he can be.
And now, with the way he looks at you, like he’s never seen you before, it shatters your very soul.
(Her voice trembles with sincerity as she blows softly on your nails, her bangs brushing against her cheek. "Promise me we'll always stay friends, no matter what. And that nothing will ever change between us.")
He hasn’t changed, still talking like he’s roped straight from a cowboy movie— still smoking those Marlboros.
But you have. You’re not a little girl anymore. You’ve blossomed into someone new, a restless, vibrant woman with that early spring glow, a hunger inside you that’s impossible to ignore. You wear that ripening look, like a peach succumbing to the intense kiss of summer’s heat; bruised but bursting with every sweet, forbidden secret, with summer’s bounty too quick, too fleeting, burning in your veins.
And him. He looks at you like he's starving, ravenous beyond reason, like he’s about to devour something he’s desperately been craving, himself included.
You reach down for a large, juicy blackberry, lost in thought, and your finger snags on a thorn.
A sharp hiss escapes your lips as you yelp and jerk your hand away, blood immediately welling up and dripping in a vivid crimson trail. In an instant, Eren is there by your side, concern etched on his face, and you had momentarily forgotten he was here with you two.
“You okay, sweetheart?” his eyes are on your face, searching deeply. His hands grip yours.
“I’m okay,” you whisper, voice trembling, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “Just an accident.”
His voice is soft but filled with certainty and warmth. Yeah, you’re alright, baby, he murmurs, as if anchoring you to the safety of his words. Without hesitation, he lifts your finger to his lips, his gentle suction soothing the sting of blood— careful, tender, reverent. The sensation makes you gasp, a breath caught between vulnerability and something deeper. You almost pull back, embarrassed by the intensity of your reaction.
But he only chuckles softly, a sound rich with affection, and places a small, lingering kiss on the tip of your finger. All better now, hm? Still such a clutz, aren’t you?
The sun shines down on your hair, turning it a golden halo. You look so beautiful, so free, so vibrant. You part your lips to answer, but all that comes out is a small whimper.
His eyes, wild and searching, flicker across your face, and in that fleeting moment, a tenderness erupts within them, burning brighter than the sun itself.
You’re quiet for a second too long, pulse fluttering. “This is all just fun for you, right? A game?” You can't stand not knowing anymore. This uncertainty, this hunger, is eating you from the inside out.
He steps closer, his voice rough with urgent intensity: Is that what you think?
You instinctively step back, heart pounding, voice catching in your throat. “That’s all it can ever be,” you whisper, voice breaking. “You know that.”
A harsh, almost bitter laugh escapes him, sharp, jagged, full of frustration and longing. “What, you telling me you can’t keep a secret?”
(You tilt your head, smiling tenderly as you pinch her cheek and laugh softly. "That's so silly, Mikasa. I would never let that happen," you say, your voice thick with affection. "You're, like, my soulmate.")
“No,” you gasp, voice trembling, “It’s not a secret… It's betrayal. I can’t– I can’t do this. I can’t lie to her.” Panic floods your veins as you pull away, tears threatening to spill, and stumble toward his truck.
Your limbs feel disconnected as you pull away, escaping toward his van, desperate to put distance between you and the wreckage threatening to consume you.
He grunts in frustration and yanks you back by your belt loops, his grip firm but trembling. His eyes dart over your face: What, you won’t even try? Just gonna give it up, just like that? You think this ain’t worth it?
Your hands tremble as they press against his chest, uncertain whether to push him away or to hold him closer, your heart seesawing wildly. “It’s not just about me,” you whisper, voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t lose both of you. If Mikasa finds out… she’ll never forgive me. I’d rather die than hurt her like that.”
His voice drops, low and coaxing, like a rumble beneath your skin: “She’ll forgive you. You know she loves you.”
He leans in, lips brushing your ear and takes a deep, steadying breath. His next words are almost tumbling out of his mouth before suddenly, Mikasa bursts through the fields, bounding toward you like a breath of fresh air.
Startled, you leap apart from him, leaving a tense silence behind. His jaw clenches, hands curling involuntarily at his sides, frustration and longing etched into every line of his body.
“Okay, guys, let’s go! Jean said he’s calling me in twenty! I need to shower!” Mikasa links her hands with yours eagerly, already pulling you toward the car, chatting animatedly about outfits, her bright energy washing over you.
In that moment, with her smiling and carefree—
(Your little finger entwines with hers in a heartfelt vow: "I promise, Mikasa.”)
It’s a Saturday night, and the world feels tender and fleeting. You’re both a little gone; not sloppy, just warm and soft around the edges. Mikasa’s music drifts softly from her speaker, a vinyl crackle weaving through her lazy hums. You’re both sprawled across her bed, half in and half out of blankets, tangled and tipsy from the expensive wine she stole from her dad’s study. Your cheeks are warm, skin flushed, giggles spilling too easily.
(You're sitting on Mikasa’s bed on a peaceful spring evening, the soft glow of dusk casting gentle shadows around you. Still dressed in your school skirt, you hold the latest issue of GIRL TALK magazine open to a page about kissing, feeling a flutter of nerves and anticipation swirling inside you.)
There’s a bottle between you, legs tangled on the bed, nail polish scattered like confetti across the duvet. Your laugh is hushed, breathless, the kind you only get after the third drink and a memory you forgot you had. In that fleeting, perfect moment, the world stands still just for you, and everything feels infinitely sacred.
(“Do you really think Jean will try to kiss me at the cinema?” Mikasa lies on her back, wiggling her toes in your lap, her innocent face filled with curiosity and hope.
You absentmindedly chew on a peach ring, the sweet taste grounding you: “That’s what all boys do, right?”
Mikasa suddenly sits up, her eyes wide with anxiety. "What if he uses tongue? I don’t know how to do that," she whispers, her voice trembling with juvenile horror.)
You’re still sipping from the bottle when the door creaks open.
Your gaze lifts, and in that moment, your heart stutters sharply. It’s Eren. He’s leaning against the doorframe, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a chain catching the warm light that bathes the hallway, chewing a piece of gum. His damp hair clings to his forehead, probably from a late-night rinse-off, hinting at exhaustion and intimacy all at once.
He’s half-shrouded in the hallway’s glow, a quiet, magnetic presence. His messy hair, the drawstring pants riding low, his shirtless figure— he carries that look, that amused, lazy smirk that feels almost insolent, as if he’s caught you completely off guard.
His eyes flick over every detail: the vinyl crackling softly in the background, Mikasa’s arm draped across your waist, your bare legs tangled in the covers.
(“It’ll be okay”, you reassure her, “He probably hasn’t done it either,” but your words can’t quite ease her worries.
She presses the magazine to her chest, voice whiny as she wails, “It has to be perfect, or he’ll never see me again!” Her eyes dart over the pages, searching desperately for guidance, overwhelmed by the countless steps she’s sure she’s bound to forget.
You lean over her shoulder, fascinated by her whirlwind of emotions, as you continue to suck the sugary sweetness off another peach ring, feeling the heat of her worries mingle with your own.)
“Well, well,” he drawls, voice low and scratchy. “Looks like the party’s moved upstairs.”
Mikasa groans and throws a pillow. “Get out, Eren. No boys allowed.”
“Didn’t know y’all were havin’ communion in here,” he teases, ducking the pillow and catching your gaze. “You alright there, sugar?”
You nod. Maybe too quickly.
His eyes flick to the bottle, and a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. He picks it up with a deliberate motion, turning it idly in his hand, then lets out a low, mock-whistle filled with amusement and something darker beneath.
“You’ve got real nerve. This is Dad’s vintage ‘87.”
“Eren, please! Don’t tell him!”
He puts the bottle down and sighs, a subtle shift from amused to firm. “I won’t. But that’s enough. The party’s over for you two.”
“But we were gonna watch a movie!” Mikasa whines.
“I’m sure you were. Not tonight, though. I’ve let this go on long enough.”
You slip out of Mikasa’s bed under his watchful eye, placing a wet kiss on her cheek before shuffling out of her room.
(1. Keep your lips soft. Lips that are smooth, inviting, and subtly moist create the perfect canvas for an unforgettable kiss.)
He follows you to your room, with a heavy presence lingering behind you. You settle onto your bed, the plush comforter cocooning you, wrapping you in a comforting, almost sacred embrace. He steps inside, slow and deliberate. Shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. You let your gaze drag over him, unhurried. He notices. His mouth twitches, rolling his wad of gum around his cheek.
(2. Refresh your breath. You never want bad breath to be the obstacle standing between you and something truly special, whether it’s a simple peck or a passionate French kiss.)
You tug the blanket higher on your legs. “Mikasa’ll kill you if she catches you in here.”
“Guess I better make it quick, then,” he says, stepping close, way too close, before crouching beside the bed.
You can smell the soap on him. The quiet heat of him, still fresh from the shower. The way his mouth curves, so near, it looks dangerous.
(3. Lock eyes with your partner. Eyes can reveal everything: longing, vulnerability, and the unspoken promise of what’s to come.)
“I mean it,” you whisper, but your voice is softer than you want it to be.
“I know.” He looks at you for a long second, unreadable.
There’s a pause. The night is thick around you, buzzing with leftover electricity.
(4. Break the barrier by touching them, gently and confidently.)
“I’ve been thinkin’ about you,” he says, like it’s not a confession at all, just a fact. He brushes his hand along your chin, tilting your face up towards him.
You swallow, your head pounding. “That isn’t a good idea.”
He tilts his head, eyes dark. “I know.”
Your mouth goes dry. “You’re Mika’s brother.”
“And you’re her best friend. I know.” He squats down, tugging your dress strap back up. The space between you narrows in increments, quiet ones. His fingers brush yours.His thigh presses faintly into yours.
He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “God, you’re so beautiful. All soft and honest like this.” His gaze lowers to your lips, and his eyes sharpen, predatory.
Deliberate.
(5. Seize the perfect moment. A meaningful kiss is the climax of growing tension and deepening intimacy. Wait for the right time when your hearts are racing, and make sure you’re both completely ready to surrender to that magical, all-consuming moment.)
He murmurs, “You know how much I want to kiss you right now? Just let me, baby.”
(“I’ll help you, Miks, don’t worry,” you whisper, your heart pounding. “We’ll practice together.”
She shuffles nervously closer, her giggles gentle and eager, as you kneel in front of her. Your noses brush, her soft fringe tickling your skin, igniting a stirring inside me. Your hands tremble slightly, clenched and unclenched in quiet anticipation.)
Your stomach churns, ready to run away and pretend this was all a dream.
“No— You can’t—” you hiccup, shaking your head.
“Shh, shhh. It’s alright, baby. It’s written all over your face. Don’t pretend it ain’t.” He lifts a hand, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. “Just let it happen. It’s what we’re meant to do tonight.”
(“Are you ready?” you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath, trembling with emotion. She nods, her eyes shining with innocence and courage.)
You don’t answer. You can’t. Your eyes are wide, your breath a shallow hitch in your throat, and you can only stare at the dark want in his. The quiet in the room is deafening.
He takes that for his answer.
He leans in, slowly, until his lips press against yours. It’s not the gentle, questioning kiss you might have imagined. It’s demanding, confident, and tastes faintly of cheap beer and cigarettes.
(And then, your lips meet hers: clumsy, hesitant, yet determined.)
He takes your silence as an invitation, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. You feel a jolt of electricity, a fire that you’ve been trying to smother all summer, and in your panic, your hands come up, not to push him away, but to clutch at his shirt.
(Her lips are small, moist, trembling with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, pressed too tightly and moving too swiftly. Her tongue sucks the sugar off your lips, and in that moment, you part your own, inviting her to continue.)
He pulls away as your eyes flutter open, and you feel a wave of shame so powerful it makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. The sick feeling from before returns, but this time, it’s tangled with a confusing, terrifying kind of relief.
He sees the tears welling in your eyes. Instead of backing away, he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. He buries his face in your hair, his voice a low, comforting murmur that's laced with a dark possessiveness.
“Shh, shh,” he whispers, as if consoling you. “It’s our little secret, baby. Just ours.” He pulls back to look at you, and the smirk returns, cold and triumphant.
He presses a tender kiss to your temple, before standing and leaving you alone to drown in a storm of guilt and burning desire, helpless in the echo of his touch.
“Sleep tight, city girl,” he says, looking over his shoulder with a crooked grin. “Try not to dream about me.”
A week or two melted away like ice in the sun, and suddenly it’s the Fourth of July. The sky is bruised with sunset, the kind that spills gold and peach through the trees. The yard smells like smoke and cut grass, someone is telling loud stories over the music, and the air is heavy with summer. You’re standing on the porch, leaning against the railing, nursing the last of a drink gone syrupy with melted ice. You stand on the porch, the light breeze tussling your hair and your little red dress. You fiddle with the lace ribbon on your boots. Your thighs stick together, a subtle burn, while the faint taste of peach schnapps lingers on your lips. Laughter drifts from the yard, but your eyes are fixed somewhere far off, soft and lazy like a cat in the sun.
Then—
“You runnin’ away from me?” His voice, tender and low, is like molasses pouring slowly, wrapping around your heart.
You don’t answer right away. Your whole body stills in the porch light. Late evening, warm and sticky, and the ice in your glass rattles as you set it down too fast. He's always there, right when you don’t need him to be.
(Out by the truck, grease on his fingers and sweat shining at the nape of his neck, back muscles shifting under worn denim as he leans under the hood. Or striding down the hall fresh from a shower, towel slung low on his hips, steam still clinging to his skin.
At dinner, it’s worse. His leg brushes yours beneath the table, once, twice, like it’s an accident. Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Drapes his arm over the back of your chair, fingers playing with the ends of your hair as he drawls, Pass the salad, sweetheart.
Sometimes he trips you as you pass him, just to see you stumble. Sometimes his hand finds the back of your neck, fingers brushing just so, til your breath catches and your thoughts scatter. Sometimes he pulls your hair gentle as he walks by, like it’s not driving you clean out of your mind.)
You stiffen, just slightly, but don’t turn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He chuckles. “Thought I saw a ghost just now,” Eren says, voice low and warm behind you. “Slippin’ off like that.”
“I just needed air,” you say quietly.
“Ain’t rude to want some air.” His footsteps are slow, deliberate. You hear the shuffle of his boots on the porch, feel the heat of him as he closes the distance. “But it’s a bit impolite, leavin’ the party without sayin’ hi.”
He cages you in on the porch, arms planted either side of you on the railing. Not pressing, just blocking. Gentle. But immovable. His thighs press against the backs of yours, the rough denim of his Levi’s hot against the ripe flesh of your thighs below the hem of your dress.
His voice drops, honey-thick and hoarse. “You've been hidin’ from me all week, sugar. Am I that bad at kissin’?”
You don’t turn. You just swallow and say, soft, “Eren… I didn’t want that.”
He huffs, low and disbelieving, almost fond. “Really?” He spins you around, gently, like you’re a stray cat. Like you need it. “You always were a terrible liar.”
“I’m not—”
He cuts you off with a quiet, “Yeah, you are. Still got that little crease between your brows when you’re nervous.”
You narrow your eyes, but he’s already brushing his fingers over that exact spot.
“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart,” he says. “You always did blush easy.”
You’re not sure if it’s the night or the woods or the warmth in his voice, but suddenly your breath’s a little shorter. You’re inches apart, and the woods feel hotter than the Fourth of July sun. You can smell him now, bonfire smoke, something green and clean, the faintest trace of cologne clinging to his skin.
One hand ghosts up your arm, slow and easy, before it tips your chin, coaxing your face toward his. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, flicking between yours. Studying. Unraveling.
This is your problem. You keep lookin’ at me like that, he murmurs, voice rough, then runnin’ the other way soon as I notice.
“Like what?” you breathe, barely more than a whisper. You blinked slow, eyes round and sugar-sweet.
His mouth quirks, slow and mean. “Like you're wonderin’ just how bad an idea I really am.”
Your breath hitches. He’s not touching you now, not really, but the air between you is molten. You try to shake your head, but his grip tightens, not cruel, just commanding. Like he’s holding you still, not out of anger, but because he owns the moment.
“Don’t go pretendin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Don’t act like you ain’t been starin’ at my mouth every time I speak. Like you ain’t been waitin’ for me to catch you slippin’.”
His voice roughens, his knuckles turning white as he drops his hand to grip the railing—
God, I saw you at the dinner table last night. I saw the way you squirmed when I said your name. How you couldn’t stop watchin’ me.
—wood splintering beneath his fingers.
You left a fucking wet spot on your chair, sweetheart.
Oh my God–
Oh my God–
And now you got the gall to stand there with that Sunday-school face and lie to me? He leans in, lips brushing your cheek, not quite a kiss. His next words graze your skin. Truth is… I been patient. But I’m gettin’ real tired of pretendin’ we don’t want the same thing.
“Eren—”
“Say the word,” he says, pulling back just enough to see your eyes. His gaze is molten, unwavering. “Say ‘no,’ and I’ll leave you be. Cross my heart, sugar. I’ll walk away and never look back. If that’s what you want.”
You don’t answer. Not yet. Your pulse is stuttering, breath shallow.
He leans in one last time, voice like smoke and fire. The silence buzzed between you, electric and thick.
You blink, throat working around the lump rising there.
“Eren,” you whisper. “Don’t.”
You don’t pull away, not yet, but the words hang heavy between you.
He exhales, long and slow. A flash of something passes through his eyes, disappointment, sure, but not anger. He nods once, jaw tight. “Yeah,” he says, voice gone hoarse. “Yeah, alright.”
He takes a step back, hands falling to his sides. Doesn’t look at you when he says, “Guess I should’ve figured. You always were good at runnin’.”
You flinch. “That’s not fair—”
“I meant what I said,” he adds, rougher this time. “I won’t bother you again… if that’s what you want.”
He runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to clear the air, but the space between you feels thick as molasses now. Charged and aching.
And then he turns, walking back into the house with his shoulders stiff, every step slower than the last.
You’re still standing there when he slams the front door, your heart a mess of regret and want.
And for the first time all summer, you wish you had lied.
The sky’s gone velvet-black, cicadas still singing their feverish tune in the dark. The house is dark behind you. Quiet. You pad down the steps barefoot, heart stuck somewhere between your throat and your stomach. You sit at the edge of the pool at night, legs swinging gently in the water, sending little ripples across the surface. The blue light from beneath the pool dances up your skin, casting your face in a soft, ethereal glow, like moonlight trapped in water.
Your white nightgown clings in places where the damp air has kissed it, delicate straps slipping from your shoulders with each lazy kick. It’s short, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs, the fabric thin enough to glow faintly in the light, almost translucent. You look like something out of a dream, barefoot, quiet, and otherworldly, like the kind of trouble a boy only ever finds once and never forgets.
Knew you would be down here.
Your breath catches. You glance back over your shoulder, and there he is: half in shadow, sleeves rolled, cigarette burning low between two fingers, curls mussed like he ran a hand through them out of habit. The gold chain around his neck glints in the moonlight.
“How come?” you whisper.
“You wear your sex-like perfume,” he murmurs. “Soft. Heavy. Can smell it all the way out here.”
Your pulse stumbles. He sits next to you, right on the ledge. He smells like bonfire and salt, and he’s wearing a white tee damp at the collar and clinging to his chest. His hand brushes yours, barely, and the contact crackles through you like static. He doesn’t speak, smoke curling round his face. Just keeps staring at the pool. Like he’s trying to memorise the waves and ripples.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
He flicks ash into the pool. “What for?”
“For what happened on the porch.”
Eren finally turns to you. His eyes are darker in the low light, full of something unreadable: You made yourself clear.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“It don’t matter what you meant, sweetheart. You said what you said.”
You go quiet. The pool water ripples gently around your toes. You twirl a strand of hair around your finger, idly, embarrassed, like a child caught in a lie.
He sighs after a moment, runs a hand down his face. “I’m not mad at you.”
You look at him. He won’t look back. Lord, what are you doing to him? You look up at him like he hung the stars, moonlight spilling softly over your face. He couldn’t stay mad at you even if he tried.
God help him, he’s gone—
“I just— I thought maybe you’d grown up a little bit. Learned to stop running from me.”
Your chest aches. “I did.”
That gets him. He blinks, slowly. Then, finally, turns to you.
—neck-deep and drownin’ in you, and you don’t even know it.
For a long beat, nothing moves but the water.
“Then why’d you push me away?”
You search for the words, throat tight. “I don’t wanna mess things up,” you admit, blinking slow. “With Mikasa. With— everything.”
Eren stares at you like he’s seeing something brand new. Something delicate.
He stubs the cigarette down on the concrete. Then, slow and unhurried, he stands up. He strips off his shirt, lets it fall in a crumpled heap on the deck. His belt clicks open. Jeans slide down his legs. You try not to stare, but God, you do. Every scar and tattoo lit by the blue glow of the pool, every inch of him so familiar and new all at once. You cross your ankles real ladylike, even while your eyes were misbehaving.
He sinks into the water like it’s a memory, treading water half-submerged, arms resting along the rim. Then he holds out a hand.
“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let me pretend this ain’t wrong for a little while.”
You hesitate, hiccup, and he must see it in the tilt of your chin, the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your nightgown. His smirk softens into something gentler.
“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”
“Don’t matter. I won’t look.” You know he’s lying.
You step down into the pool, quiet as a secret, your nightgown clinging to your silhouette like a second skin. The swell of your hips sways as you wade into the pool, the water rippling gently, folding around you like it’s been waiting.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “C’mere, sweetheart.”
He pulls you gently to stand beside him, the warm water lapping at your waists. For a moment, he just watches you, eyes tracing your face like he’s trying to memorise it, like he’s not sure how long he’ll be allowed to keep looking.
Then slowly, deliberately, he raises a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers trail down, jaw, neck, collarbone, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he presses too hard. He watches you, eyes dark beneath the moon, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a grin. You looked up from under your lashes, all wide-eyed want, not a clue what that look did to him. His hand brushes your cheek.
I ain’t gonna break you, he murmurs, voice low and thick. Ain’t gonna make you regret me.
You shake your head. “I know.”
“Then why’re you still shakin’?”
You whisper, “Because you’re touching me.”
He leans in, chuckling, until your noses are almost brushing. There’s a pause. Then he murmurs: “I ain’t a good man, sweetheart. But I’d be good to you. You believe that?”
“I want to.” Your hands grip his shoulders.
“Good. You gonna let me kiss you this time?” he murmurs, gaze heavy-lidded and soft. “Or you gonna run again?”
Your heart flutters against your ribs.
You whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”
His lips twitch, that lazy grin returning like muscle memory. And then, slow as the summer wind, he does. His lips are on you before you even register it, slow and searching, tasting like beer and summer heat. One hand slips to your thigh, thumb stroking circles into bare skin. Your fingers curl into the flesh of his biceps.
You should stop. You should run.
But instead, you kiss him like you’ve been waiting all year.
Your arms wrap around his neck, and his lips press into yours, hot and wet, as you lace your hands into his hair. His hand trails from your cheek to your throat, squeezing gently, coaxing a small moan from you. Skimming his thumb over your pulse, his tongue slips into your mouth. Sucking on it gently, your hands tug at the hair interlocked between your fingers, and Eren releases a loud groan into your mouth.
“C’mere,” he mumbles against you. His hands slip under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist. You shudder when you feel him beneath you, large and thick and impossibly hard. You roll your hips against the tent in his pants experimentally, and it pulls a moan from both of you.
He pulls away, his lips slick and swollen, still connected to yours by limp strings of saliva, to rasp, “Fuck, you’re trouble, you know that?” he says, rougher now.
Your nightgown plasters itself to your body, highlighting the swell of your breasts, and the stiff peaks of your nipples. Nothing other than reverence abides in his eyes as he surveys you, your heaving chest, your flush from your neck to your ears, and your lips are a dark, kiss-bitten red. An angel.
My angel, Eren thinks.
Eren’s hands slide up to cup your ass, squeezing, groping.
You gasp, before whispering. “What now?”
Eren huffs a laugh, quiet, like he’s been expecting the question.
“What do you want now, sweetheart?” he murmurs, stubble brushing the swell of your cheek. “You tell me.”
“I don’t know,” you admit. “It felt easier before you kissed me.”
He smiles at that, crooked and boyish. “Didn’t look easy. You’ve been lookin’ at me like I was your last cigarette for a week now.”
You nudge him gently in the chest, but you don’t move away. “I’m serious, Eren. This... changes things.”
He sobers a little, eyes darker now. Still searching your face.
“I know it does. You think I don’t?” He sighs, voice quieter. “Been tryin’ not to cross that line. Been good, haven’t I?”
“Mostly,” you whisper.
“But, can I be honest with you, sweetheart?” he growls, eyes tracing you like a prayer. “ I stopped listenin’ to the angel on my shoulder the second you lay out on that sunbed like a goddamn poster girl.”
He nips at your neck, and you whimper. A soft, wanton sound.
“So maybe stop worryin’ about tomorrow for a second,” he says, his voice dipping lower again, slow and Southern. “And tell me what you want right now.”
Your fingers twist into the wet hair at the nape of his neck. You tilt your head, pressing your lips to his jaw this time, softer.
“…You.”
He grins like you just told him a secret. “Then that’s what now, baby.”
He dips his head to capture your lips again. His cock is already twitching beneath you, pulsing against your stomach. It’s so hard against your pussy, so big— the desire between you is raw, intense, and it makes you whimper. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, sinking his teeth into it.
Your nails dig into his scalp as you moan into his mouth, and he immediately surges up, pulling you two out of the pool. You gasp as the cold night air washes over you, but it's not long before he gently presses you back, your spine meeting the warm stone beside the water. Your hair fans out like a halo, catching moonlight like threads of silver. You’re still panting, eyes glossy, breath catching.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, slow and quiet, “ain’t you somethin’ outta a dream.”
You glance down at yourself, suddenly shy, though he’s not wrong. Your dress was plastered to you, a little shorter than you meant, a little softer, lower at the neckline. Your dress strap slips down, lazy and deliberate, like it knows it’s being watched. You're not even wearing a bra, your breasts heaving with every exhale of his name. And your nipples have pebbled in the midsummer’s night chill. His eyes, from his overhead view, notice everything. You shiver, not from the bite of the air, but the ravenous gaze of Eren.
“You cold, baby?” he murmurs, warm hands running up and down your sides.
You nod; the intensity in his eyes knocks the air from your lungs.
He gives the flesh of your thigh a soft squeeze. His touch burns; his hands linger long enough to claim one spot before travelling up to the next.
Higher, higher, higher, until he’s playing with the lower hem of your dress, and you’re knotting your fingers into his hair. It’s soft to the touch, giving you something to pull on. His hand stalls on your upper thigh, his thumb lazily rubbing near its apex as he kisses down your jaw, and then down your neck.
A chill rolls down your spine.
Your gasp devolves into a shudder as he licks up your throat, tongue hot and lazy. He leans in a little more, and you feel it: he warmth of him, the weight of his attention. Need me to warm you up, baby?
“Please,” you whisper, his stubble scraping your throat. The sensation leaves goosebumps on your neck, on your thighs; and your back is arching off the stone, and your legs are spreading around him. You’re gasping, Eren—
“Yeah, baby?” he mumbled against your pulse.
“I need it. I need it so bad.”
Is that right? What do you need? He peels down the hemline of your dress and leaves quick, fleeting kisses to your chest. His fingers gently cup your breasts, making you squirm and whine beneath him. He grunts in response, pressing his hips further to yours: Stay still.
His hands run down your hips, the heat of his palms bleeding through your dress; they’re warm through the fabric, and they’re hot when they skim over the bottom hem to explore the bare skin of your thighs. Long fingers graze over your flesh, unhurried, attentive to every inch of unclothed skin. His thumb brushes the crotch of your underwear, translucent and plastered to your wet, dripping cunt. Your hips buck to meet his touch halfway, desperate.
He chuckles. Need me to touch you, hm? Want me to work this pretty little pussy?
Where did he learn to talk like that? God, just his voice is getting you geared up, and you're glad for getting into the pool, because if not, he would be able to see the arousal smeared between your thighs and across your stomach.
“Yes, yes, please. Please, Eren—”
His voice, so low and quiet, barely registers. “I know, baby. I'm gonna give it to you.”
You’re focused on his hands as they slip under the hem of your dress to lift it slowly. You’re focused on the throbbing in your stomach when he bunches the fabric up around your waist and puts his hands on your bare skin. You grasp his shoulders, digging your nails into his shoulder blades.
At the same time, he takes your dress off of you, groaning: “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
He tosses the fabric, leaving it to disappear somewhere into the hazy air. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.
Legs spread wide around him, beneath him in just your panties— even in the chill of the night, his touch keeps you burning warm. You’re too aroused to feel embarrassed— you can feel the immediate response in his cock, the length of it twitching against you. He’s so starstruck you can almost see little hearts swimming in his eyes.
“You’re so perfect,” he says coarsely.
His hands are rough, calloused from years of hard work, but his touch is soft. It’s warm, and your skin is so sensitive that when his rough fingers sweep down your abdomen, your breaths catch in your throat. And when his big hand cups your mound, you squirm on the stone, whining.
Shut that shit up, sweetheart. No more whining, he grunts, giving your pussy a gentle squeeze. You want Mikasa to hear you?
That sobers you up, immediately tucking your lip under your teeth. Eren chuckles, squishing your cheeks together in his free hand.
Mm, that’s better, sweetheart. What do you say?
“Sorry,” you mumble, your lips puckered into a pout. He leans down, placing a wet kiss on your lips.
“Good girl,” He’s trailing off now, his mouth leaving yours. He’s moving, slathering sloppy kisses down your jaw, down your throat. Gotta be patient, sweetness.
He’s level with your bare chest now. Eren immediately takes your left nipple into his hot, wet mouth and your back arches. You keen as he rolls the other nipple in his fingers. He releases your nipple from his mouth with a wet pop and places slow, open-mouthed kisses in the valley between your breasts. His large, calloused hands fondle your breasts languidly, his cock twitching in his briefs. Moaning softly, you roll your hips against him, desperate for friction, whimpering.
He’s kissing, licking, sucking your skin, making it tingle when he draws blood to the surface. He presses a hand on your stomach to steady you, his fingers splaying over your skin. He hooks his fingers over the damp fabric covering your pussy, pulls your panties to the side, slow. His fingers finally come into contact with your core, and a strained whimper rips out of you at his fleeting touch. He ghosts over your clit, sucking in a sharp breath. Just as you’re about to whine again, he starts applying pressure to your swollen nub, just enough to make your head spin, as he chuckles.
It’s good, so, so good. He gets you wet with the lightest touch, has you pleading his name, so needy for him that you can’t help but lean up and pull him into a sloppy kiss. But that’s not enough, not nearly. Even when your tongues are knotted together, and his cock is straining harder against you, you’re dying for more.
I know, he says, between sloppy kisses. I know. He dips a finger between your folds, running it along your slit, before pulling it back. He’s licking his finger, cleaning your wetness off of it. He brings his hand back between your thighs and murmurs: Are you ready, sweetheart?
As soon as he applies a little pressure, you gasp quietly as he begins thrusting his finger in and out of you. The stretch is delicious, something your fingers could never achieve. You can hear the—
squelch squelch squelch
—echo around you two before he even adds another finger. You’re mildly aware that you’re dripping, down his wrist, between your legs, onto the stone, but your mind is too foggy with pleasure to feel an inkling of shame. You’ve never been this wet for anyone before, and your heart hammers wildly in your chest.
“You hear that, baby?” Eren teases you, “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”
Whimpering, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. With his mouth against your jaw, he sinks another finger into you, slow and easy, then it’s all the way inside, and you’re shuddering, clenching around him. His fingers are long and thick, nestling against that gummy spot that makes your knees weak.
Right there, Eren, don't stop, you’re keening, bucking your hips to meet his fingers halfway.
“Right there, baby?” His fingers press deeper, curling into a spot that feels good.
You gasp, swallowing your monas like a wad of honey. Yeah—
He sticks to that spot, making your thighs shake, as he’s cooing the whole time Uh huh? That’s right? as you tell him how close you are to cumming for him, how long you’ve wanted this. You begin to rock your hips faster, encouraged by his coos, the flames in your gut beginning to spread. You pant into his ear wanton, your breasts bouncing with your every move.
Your head falls back onto the ground, holding his gaze, as he grinds your clit against the heel of his palm. Your eyes cross as your legs lock around his waist. Moans are tumbling out of you unrestrained now, your voice high, whiny and loud. You are on the brink of orgasm, painstakingly close, and as Eren curls his fingers again, you lose it.
Your vision blurs, and your legs shake as the world stutters on its axis. You spasm and clench around Eren’s hand, dripping onto the gravel below you. Pleasure washes over you in waves, each one less intense than the last. His fingers are relentless, never faltering, coaxing every drop of cum out of you. You slump with the last. Catching your breath against his chest, feeling its slow and steady rise and fall. Hearing, in the thick of it, the low hum of his voice, reassurances murmured to ease you down, you close your eyes. His pace has slowed to a languid pump, fingers massaging your inner walls.
Eren looks at the mess you’ve made of his hand, retracts his fingers gently, letting out a low fuuuuck, before asking if, you’re okay?
You hum in response, barely registering Eren’s question. Eren tugs your hair again, lighter this time, and you look up at him, eyes wide and glazed over.
“Cmon, sweetheart. Look at me. Was it okay?” he asks softly, that same way he asked when you would scrape your knee chasing a butterfly. “Was it too much?”
You shake your head, whispering. “No, it was perfect.”
“Good.”
Tilting your face gently upward, he places a light kiss on your hairline, and then another on your lips. As soon as his mouth leaves yours, his thumb takes its place, grazing slowly over your bottom lip. You let out a soft little sigh, your lashes fluttering low like they’re heavy with honey.
Limbs loose and languid, body warm and worn from the weight of him.
He’s already wrung you dry, not just your body, but every damn nerve in you, plucked and played like the strings on a fiddle. You let out a small sigh, eyes fluttering closed. Your limbs feel like molasses, slow and sweet, worn down to the bone.
Eren leans over you, propped on one elbow, damp curls curling at his temples, his bare chest still glistening faintly in the moonlight. All golden skin and sweat-slick muscle, watching you with that lazy, satisfied smirk. He watches you for a long, quiet second, his breath low and steady.
“Tired, baby?” he murmurs, voice like honey and heat. “Reckon it’s time for bed, ain’t it?”
“No,” you mumble, throat still thick, words slow like your brain’s still stuck in that haze. “No, I’m ready. I want more. I want—”
Your eyes flick down, lingering a beat too long at his crotch. The air between you thickens like the August night. Ripe, humid, heavy.
He sees it. Lord, he sees it, and his grin turns wolfish.
“Well, now,” he drawls, chuckling low in his chest, “You sure ‘bout that, sweetheart? ‘Cause you’re lookin’ awful tuckered out already.”
You shake your head, but it’s weak. Your hand comes up to brush his collarbone, tracing a slow path down his chest. “No,” you whisper, breath hitching. Your voice drops lower. “I want you to fuck me.”
He huffs a soft laugh, low in his throat, like you just told him the sweetest joke. You kiss your mother with that mouth, sweetheart?
He drawls, eyes twinkling with something wicked. “You’re real brave all of a sudden, huh?” He leans down, nose brushing your jaw. “Could barely catch your breath a minute ago, and now you’re tryin’ to play grown.”
“I can take it,” you whisper. “I swear I can.”
“Mmm.” He leans back just a little, and his hand slides down to yours, warm, calloused fingers wrapping around yours. Then he brings it to his crotch, presses it slow and deliberate against his jeans, right below his buckle.
You freeze.
Because there it is: heavy, solid, unmistakable. Not a metaphor. Not a tease. He’s big. Huge, even. You felt it earlier, but now that feeling is throbbing under your palm, you’re truly grasping the size of it.
How will it fit? You think, with your heart in your throat.
Your breath catches. He watches you closely, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that’s almost fond. Your pulse flutters like a moth in your throat.
“Now, listen to me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You been real good for me. But tonight?” He slides off you slow, the loss of his weight making you ache. “Tonight, you’re done.”
“Eren—”
“No.” There’s no shame in his tone. Just that same steady patience, the kind you only learn from fixing engines and waiting out storms. “You need rest, sugar. That brain of yours’ all fogged up. When you’re ready, I’ll give it to you proper. But not when you’re half outta your head and barely able to speak.”
“I can take it,” you whisper again, desperate now.
Eren crouches beside you, cups your cheek, eyes molten and kind. “I know you think you can. But I told you I’d be good to you, didn’t I? That means knowin’ when to stop.”
You bite your lip, tears stinging behind your eyes, frustration or tenderness, you can’t tell.
He murmurs, voice like smoke. “You trust me?”
You nod, dumbly, almost shy now. But his thumb rubs gentle over the back of your hand, grounding you.
He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, whispering like he’s telling you a secret, “Then trust me on this, too. You ain’t ready. Not tonight.”
He carries you into the house, up the stairs, down the hallway, bare feet soft against the floorboards, your damp hair clinging to you, and his shirt slipping off one shoulder.
In your bedroom, he lays you down gentle, like something breakable, and kisses your cheeks, your eyelids, your lips, feather-light.
“Sleep tight, city girl,” he murmurs, pulling the covers over your hips.
And then he’s gone, door clicking shut behind him.
You lie there, drenched in pool water and his scent, every inch of you still thrumming. The sheets cling to your bare thighs, his shirt hanging off your body like a secret.
Mind racing. Heart aching.
The next morning, you pad into the bathroom with a yawn, rubbing your eyes, the hem of your sleep shirt brushing your thighs. The tile’s cool under your bare feet, and the morning sun spills in sideways through the slatted blinds, soft and golden. You’re half-asleep, toothbrush in hand, already going through the motions. It's early morning, the mockingjays are singing outside, and Mikasa is still sleeping. You barely got a wink of sleep last night, too consumed by the memory of Eren and his hands on you. Then the door creaks open behind you.
You don’t turn.
You don’t have to.
The air shifts behind you, warmer, charged. You catch the faint creak of the floorboards, the smell of sun and soap and whatever cologne he’d smudged on yesterday that still clings to your pillow. Your toothbrush stills in your mouth. He doesn’t say a word at first. Just steps inside, slow as molasses, like he owns the place. Like he owns you.
You blink at your own reflection, hair a mess, sleep shirt slipping off one shoulder, mouth full of mint foam. You must look ridiculous. But behind the fuzz of embarrassment, there’s a thrum in your chest. A heat low in your belly that never really cooled from last night. You spit into the sink. Rinse. Gulp down a breath, still refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror.
Then you feel it.
The soft, solid press of him at your back, broad and warm, skin still damp from the shower, or maybe he’s just been sweating from the heat already. He leans down, his bare chest brushing your shoulder blades, his mouth a breath away from your ear.
“Morning, sugar,” he murmurs, voice thick and lazy with sleep. “You sleep alright?”
You shake your head, cheeks burning. “Not really.”
“Mm.” His hands find your hips, thumbs stroking just under the hem of your shirt. “Still sore?”
Your breath hitches. You nod once.
“Aw, poor baby,” he coos, mock-pitying, dropping a kiss to the curve of your jaw. “Guess I wore you out, huh?”
“Eren…” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut. The weight of him behind you is dizzying, anchoring and dangerous all at once. His fingers trace the hem of your shirt, lifting, teasing, and your body leans into him like it’s got a mind of its own.
He huffs a soft laugh against your neck, lips grazing skin. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmurs, but makes no move to pull away.
“You already are,” you breathe, barely audible.
That does it.
He chuckles low, wicked, like he just won something, and kicks the bathroom door shut with the heel of his foot, the sharp click of it echoing in the small room. He crowds you against the sink, one hand dragging up your thigh, the other curling around your jaw to tilt your head toward him.
“You— she’s gonna hear us,” you whisper, breath hitching, your voice barely a hush beneath the creak of the old house settling.
Eren leans in close, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. Not if you’re quiet, he murmurs, voice like warm honey, slow and sinful. His breath fans across your skin, making you shiver. Think you can do that for me, baby? Or do I need to give you somethin’ to suck on to keep that sweet little mouth of yours busy?
You blink up at him, heart racing behind your ribs. “You’d let me?” Your voice goes soft, eyes dropping with a smile playing at your lips.
That earns a dark chuckle from deep in his throat. “Course I will, sweetheart. Gotta return the favour, don’t ya?”
He doesn’t give you time to fire back with something smart. Just spins you around like he’s done it a thousand times before, strong hands at your waist, and presses a kiss to your lips— hot and messy, tasting like spearmint and sin. His tongue slides against yours, slow and teasing, and when you gasp, he grins into your mouth like he’s already won.
Your hands trail down, fingers ghosting along the edge of his waistband, playful. You find his cock, heavy, warm, thick beneath the cotton, and your fingers pause there.
“S’big,” you breathe, eyes wide, lips parted. “So big.”
“I know, baby,” he says, brushing his knuckles along your cheek like you’re made of glass. There’s pride in his drawl, heat in his grin. “But you’re gonna swallow it all, ain’t ya?”
His hand slides into your hair, slow and possessive, curling at the nape of your neck.
“You want it?” he asks, voice low, dangerous and sweet like a storm rolling in.
You nod, lips parted.
He tugs gently, guiding you down.
Then you’re on your knees on that cool tile floor, the morning light streaking in through the blinds, striping his bare chest with gold. Outside, mockingjays keep singing, and the house is still. Still enough that you know you’ve only got a few minutes before someone notices you’re both gone.
He strokes your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with something tender and wicked all at once. “Now open real wide for me.”
Your lips part on instinct, slow, soft, still swollen from sleep. You’re blinking up at him, lashes fluttering, your breath feather-light in the quiet hush of the morning. He hooks a finger into your mouth, rough pad dragging against your tongue, and before you can even brace for it—
He spits, slow and deliberate, straight into your mouth.
It’s filthy. Real country-boy nasty. Like he doesn’t care one bit who might be just down the hall. Like he owns this moment, and you, too.
Your eyes flutter, lashes trembling, and a soft gasp slips out around his finger, not from shock, but from the way your whole body clenches at once, like he’s lit a match and dropped it into your stomach. You taste him, bitter and hot and wrong in all the ways that make it feel so right.
He laughs, low and mean, and grabs your cheeks in one broad, calloused hand, squeezing your mouth into a pout. “Swallow it, sweetheart.”
You do. Without hesitation.
His eyes gleam, wicked and wolfish as his thumb strokes the edge of your jaw. Good girl, he drawls. Didn’t even have to ask you twice.
Then he reaches into the band of his sweatpants and pulls it out, slow, almost reverent, his cock. It’s thick and curved and veiny, the skin hot and flushed from being so close to his body. He hisses softly as the cool air hits it, his knuckles going white around the base. Precum dribbled steadily from the tip, trickling down his shaft in translucent streams. Long, and girthy, the head flushed to an angry red. A bulging vein runs down the underside of his cock, straight to where his balls sit, heavy and warm.
“Lord,” he mutters with a lazy smirk, “been waitin’ to feed this to you all morning.”
You stare. Your mouth waters. He gives it a lazy pump, once, twice, just enough to make you squirm, before pressing it gently to your cheek. Gripping his cock at the base, he smacks the bulbous head against your cheek twice. His precum dribbles across your cheek. The weight of it drags down your jaw, your skin prickling with heat.
He whistles. Low and long.
“You look scared, sugar,” he teases, voice all mock concern. “What’s the matter? Never sucked cock before?”
Your fingers curl against your thighs, legs tucked beneath you on the tile. “Not one like that,” you whisper, dazed.
“Then you’re in for a real treat.” You swallow hard, heart pounding, and he raises a brow, grin stretching wide and wicked. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, tapping the tip against your lips now, coaxing. “I’ll tell you what to do.”
You suck in a deep breath before gently gripping it at the base. Eren hisses, his teeth grinding together.
“Tighter, sweetheart.” His voice, so deep, hits you like a wave, until you're temporarily lost in the unfamiliarity of it. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach clenching as you tighten your grip. “Yeah, that's it. Good girl.”
You then press a small, intimate kiss to the tip, like a dream stitched from the deepest corners of your heart, and it earns a rumbling moan from Eren. You tenderly wrap your lips around his trembling, leaking head, your tongue gently swirling in a slow, lovesick dance. His precum moistens your tongue, mingling with your minty toothpaste.
That’s good, baby, so good. Go on, open up, sweetheart. Keep your teeth outta the way. He gently, yet urgently, brushes the hair from your face with both hands, holding it back and away from your face so he doesn’t miss a thing as you start to lower your mouth down onto his cock.
“Holy shit,” he grunts, sighing in pleasure as he watches you swirl your tongue around his swollen head. He bites down on his lower lip as you slide your wet, flat tongue against his entire length, your gaze fixed on his the entire time. He threads his fingers through your hair, a desperate, primal moan spilling from deep within his chest.
You swallow his length slowly, inch by inch. You open your mouth a little wider and let the head of his cock slide against your tongue. You wrap your lips around him, gently bobbing up and down across the ridge of his dick as your hand pumps lazily against his length. Drool slides down from the side of your mouth, lubricating your hand and allowing you to slide faster and grip him tighter.
About halfway down, you gag, and pull back, thick rivulets of spit connecting you and his cock. You look so beautiful and fucked out on your knees for him like this, face flushed, and eyelashes lined with tears. He grunts, his fingers tightening fiercely in your hair: Easy now, where you goin’, sweetheart?
Your chest heaves, and your eyes water. His eyes are dark and wild, consumed by an intense, almost desperate desire.
“Come back here and spit on it,” he growls, yanking your head forward. A searing heat pulses through your core in response to his touch, and a trembling, pitiful whimper escapes your lips. You let a glob of spit fall onto the pulsing length of his dick.
That's it, baby, get it wet. He pulls your mouth back onto his cock, and you bob your head in time with his hand in your hair. You pump him with both hands, twisting them in sync with your gargles. Eren’s grip on your hair tightens as you start to take more of him into your mouth.
“Fuck,” he groans, watching you blink back tears as you take him deeper and deeper. “That’s it, take it— just like that, baby— fuck.”
Spit drips down your chin as you suck his cock, slow and messy. He lifts the hem of his shirt, and in that moment, your hands instinctively splay against his hot, bare skin, feeling the rapid tremors of his muscles beneath your fingertips, each flex, each ripple igniting a rush of electricity through your veins. The bathroom is thick with loud, visceral noises—
gargling, swallowing
—raw, urgent sounds that echo in the tight space between you. Bubbles surge, then burst in the corners of your mouth. Your throat clenches almost painfully around him as you swallow, and Eren's vision goes blurry, almost missing the way you nuzzle your nose against the dark curls around the base of his cock.
God, sweetheart, you’re deeper than a drain pipe, he hisses through clenched teeth. He holds you there, spit running down your chin and your chest. He looks down at you, sees how beautiful you look, so messy, with sunlight smattering your hair. He keeps you there, with spit sliding down your chin and soaking your chest, as if every ounce of chaos in you has become his obsession. His gaze falls upon you, and in that moment, he sees a beauty raw and unguarded, so imperfect, so real, with your hair shimmering with sunlight.
And that's when it all shatters, and something inside him snaps.
Eren's low growl escapes, primal and urgent, like an animal driven to the edge. Without hesitation, he pushes forward. His hands clutch your tangled hair as he takes a few determined steps, until your head is pressed firmly against the bathroom cabinet, trapped and helpless.
He begins to thrust his cock into your mouth relentlessly, loud, wet sounds filling the bathroom: Stay still, and take it. Fuck, that's it, that's it, baby.
You're completely at his mercy, quietly surrendering as he dominates you, letting him facefuck you like a doll. Your hands hanging limp by your sides, his hips piston relentlessly against your face as your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the size and sheer force of him.
Your entire body blazes with an inferno, every nerve ignited by the sensation of being used. Your eyes lift to meet his, wide with longing, shimmering with tears and pure devotion. In that moment, all the world dissolves, until only the heat of your mouth remains. Hiking his foot onto the counter, Eren suddenly erupts in a guttural roar that echoes through the room.
Without hesitation, he pours a rush of cum down your throat, each drop scalding, thick, and intensely salty. His thighs tremble, his stomach caving in as he bends over you. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath ragged and frantic, as he calls out your name with a mixture of yearning and desperation that cuts straight to your core.
After the final spurt, he pulls his softening cock from your mouth, allowing you to gasp for air. His voice is rough, almost gone, when he speaks, Don't swallow yet. Show me, baby.
You stick your tongue out, your mouth lathered white, with his cum piled on your tongue, and dripping into your cleavage.
His cock twitches in his hand. “Swallow it. All of it,” he growls. You do. Obedient. Docile.
Pathetic.
He squats in front of you, gripping your chin, “Open, baby. Let me see.” You show him your empty mouth, proving that you swallowed all of his load.
“That's my girl,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. He gently wipes away the spit, tears and cum on your face. His eyes burn with a deep, heartfelt concern. “Sorry, sweeheart, I got a bit carried away. Was that okay? Did I go too far?”
You shake your head softly, your lips trembling as you lick them, a gentle, breathless sigh escaping. “No, it was good,” you say, your voice raw with honest emotion. Slowly, you lean in, nestling your face against his palm, your eyes searching his with unspoken longing. The words spill from your lips, filled with sincerity: “I liked it.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a breathless chuckle. “Yeah? Didn't know you were such a slut, sweetheart.”
He pulls you upright, his calloused hands smoothing your pyjamas with tender care before tucking himself back in. His face is worn, exhausted, his hair clinging damply to his sweat-slicked temples, yet those emerald eyes shine with a deep, lingering ache and a silent hunger that speaks volumes.
“Better get goin’ ‘fore Mika wakes up, yeah? I'm gonna clean myself up a bit.” He squeezes your waist tenderly, as if trying to soothe the ache building inside you before it overwhelms.
“Okay. I’ll see you…?” You hold your breath, biting your lip to keep the longing from spilling over, chastising yourself for already missing him so fiercely. This was wrong, so painfully wrong, yet your heart refused to listen, aching with a truth you dared not admit: you couldn’t deny how deeply he affected you, how desperately you wanted to stay, no matter the cost.
He senses your upset, and smooths a hand over your spine, like a stray cat craving comfort. “Course you will, sweetheart. Not letting that throat go anywhere.” His lips press softly to your hair, a soothing, desperate touch before he grins, delivering a hard smack to your ass. A quiet, surprised gasp escapes you, and Eren’s chuckle rumbles in his chest, warm and teasing.
Just as you turn to walk away, he leans in close, his lips grazing your ear as he murmurs:
relationship: Eren Yeager x Reader x Jean Kirstein
word count: 14.3k
tags: poly!erejean, modern AU, camping trip, tent sex, missionary, prone bone, exhibitionism, outdoor sex, anal sex, hiking, minor intox.
summary: THE HANGED MAN.—Wisdom, circumspection, discernment, trials, sacrifice, intuition, divination, prophecy. Reversed: Selfishness, the crowd, body politic. On a weekend camping trip, you find out that upside-down, everything makes sense.
read on ao3
notes: hi all!! long awaited chapter two .... i hope it was worth the wait <33
part ii: ego
The world is a blur of orange-gold nylon and the humid air of dawn. The morning sun presses against the tent, dappling the fabric with the shadows of swaying leaves. It feels like being inside a heartbeat– warm, muffled, and private.
You're tucked in the crevice of Eren’s heat. His arms are thick and heavy, curled around your head and waist, pinning you to him. His thigh is hooked over yours– a rough, muscular anchor that kept you trapped in the tangled nest of the sleeping bags. Your face is buried in the crook of his shoulder, the salt-sweet scent of his skin filling your lungs, while his hair, wild and tangled from sleep, tickles the sensitive skin of your neck.
A few feet away, the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Jean’s back is the only other sound. He’s facing away, a silent silhouette in the corner of the tent, still lost in the heavy stupor of the morning.
Eren shifts. You can feel the friction of his skin against yours. His mouth begins to work against the curve of your neck, his lips dry and insistent. You wiggle, a half-hearted protest, and he lets out a low, guttural grunt, nuzzling deeper, his stubble grazing your collarbone.
“You up?”
His voice is a vibration before it’s a sound, still low, thick with sleep, and honey-dark. It ripples through your stomach, a physical pull that makes your toes curl inside the sleeping bag.
“Let me go, Eren. ’S too early,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his skin. You try to reach back for the fraying edges of your dream, but the reality of him is too loud.
He pinches the soft skin of your stomach, his fingers lingering, tracing the curve of your waist. “None of that, baby. We’re going on a hike today. No time to waste.”
You whine, a small, needy sound, and try to curl further into the furnace of his body. You’re still in underwear beneath the covers, his skin radiating a feverish warmth that makes the humid air of the tent feel like steam.
“Five more minutes,” you plead, but he’s already moving.
His hand slides from your waist, his palm hot and calloused as it drags up your ribcage, his thumb skimming the underside of your bra. He’s not letting you go; he’s pulling you closer, until there isn't a single inch of space left between your heartbeat and his.
Eren pulls back just enough to look at you, his green eyes shimmering with a predatory, half-awake hunger that makes your breath hitch.
"Five minutes," he murmurs, his hand tightening on your hip as he rolls you onto your back, his weight settling between your thighs with a promise that has nothing to do with walking. "But I’m not letting you sleep."
“Eren!” you whisper-shout. “Jean is right there!”
He's already kneading at your breasts, rocking against you. The hard length of him is undeniable under the thin stretch of his boxers.
“So what, baby? He’s heard worse,” he whispers, words hot against your ear.
His mouth slanted over yours, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip, demanding you open up for him.
Give me that pussy, c’mon, he murmurs, gently biting your shoulder. I can be quiet. Can you, baby?
I can be quiet, you whisper.
That’s my girl.
His lips lock to yours again, a lazy, hot kiss. A quiet moan slips from your mouth when he deepens it, his tongue exploring yours with lazy, languid strokes that have the heat coiling low in your stomach.
His hands roam across your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers through the fabric of your bra while he grinds his dick against the wet gusset of your panties. Maybe it’s because it’s early and you’re still half-asleep, but you’re finding every touch adding more and more haze to your brain.
You gasp as his fingers pinch at your nipples and his lips press against your neck. You roll your hips up into his crotch and feel a burn of arousal course through you as he groans into your skin.
Eren, I–
Shh, he scolds, reaching one hand up to cover your mouth while the other pushes your underwear down off of your hips. Quiet, remember?
You kick your underwear off and are suddenly grateful for his hand on your mouth as he spreads your thighs open, fingers sliding along your already-slick entrance as you moan into his palm.
His hand slides higher and higher up your thigh until each brush of his thumb has him just lightly touching the soft folds between your legs, and you buck your hips against him in need.
“Easy,” he warns, lips pressed against your shoulder.
You whine in protest, but he shuts you up by moving his thumb harder against your already-slick folds. He moves it up and down across your slit, spreading your wetness gently before slowly pulling you open.
“So wet already,” he tsks, head dipping down to take your breast in his mouth.
His eyes flick up to your face, watching you pant heavily with your mouth hung open in a perfect O-shape as Eren teases his thumb against your entrance.
He shifts his palm to cup around your pussy, heel pressing softly into your clit as his fingers press against your opening, and you clench your teeth, sucking in a sharp breath as you twist your fists against the bag.
Eren keeps his eyes on you as he gently pushes a finger inside, watching the way your breath stutters in your chest and your eyes squeeze shut. He grins in amusement, still tonguing your nipple as he gently works his finger inside of you, pulling more of your wetness out against your folds.
“You like that?” he teases, voice thick with arousal, and you can only offer him a whimper in response. When he curls his finger inside of you, stroking against that soft bundle of nerves that he knows makes you go weak, you arch your back in pleasure.
“Right there, huh?” he coos, doing it again and again until each puff of breath is accompanied by a needy moan.
He pushes two fingers into you before you respond, and this time, your moan is louder and desperate when he curls inside of you.
He knows he should shut you up. He knows that Jean is sleeping less than a metre away, but he loves the sounds you make.
And maybe he wants Jean to hear you.
“Aw, baby, is it too much?” he murmurs, doing it again and again as you twist your head to try to bury your face in the ground. It only makes him want to move faster.
“Eren,” you pant, hands tightening around the sleeping bag as you tug at it, legs trembling on either side of his hips.
He gets so fucking excited seeing you like this, he can’t help himself. He stuffs a third finger inside of you, and before you can wake up Jean, Eren clamps his free hand against your mouth again, muffling your sounds as your eyes flutter open to look at him.
I know, I know, he soothes, fingers pumping inside of you and filling the tent with lewd, wet sounds.
That’s my pretty girl, so fucking good to me, he grunts, panting heavily above you as he works you toward your orgasm.
You audibly whimper as his long, thick digits pump into your body. You can feel how wet you are from the slick against your thighs and the wetness dripping down to your ass.
Only Eren can make you feel this good with just his fingers.
You struggle to moan with Eren’s hand clamped over your mouth, finding yourself with your eyes rolling back into your head as the heel of his hand grinds against your clit. The heat builds in your core steadily between Eren’s quick hands and his hot breath against your neck. You reach your hand up to grab his bicep in warning as the feeling gets too much, but he just tsks in your ear.
“I know, baby,” he assures as your nails dig into his skin. “I can feel it. I know you’re close. Give it to me.”
With another whimper, you cum hard around his fingers, pussy clenching around his digits as your eyes squeeze shut. Eren keeps moving, keeps working you through your orgasm, until your body is twitching and sweating beneath him.
“That’s my girl,” he hums, removing his palm from your mouth to press a hot kiss against your cheek. “But we can do better than that, right?”
He removes his hand from between your legs to pull down his underwear.
His cock is large and meaty, dripping with pre-cum already. Eren’s cock looks big even in his hand as he slicks it with your wetness that remains on his fingers. Thumbing the wide head on the downstroke so you can watch as he adds his pre-cum to the slickness that coats his hand.
All while he looks at you with such deep affection, it verges on filthy, how he lets his eyes be filled with the sight of you. Like he’s possessed by some lecherous force, his hands fall to your thighs.
His hips thrust against you with a sense of urgency, his cock sliding between your legs as he grunts into your ear. You can feel how hard he is against you, thrusting against you as his hot breath tickles the side of your neck.
His soft balls nestle against your dripping pussy, and his colossal, soft cock lies heavy against your stomach, the head reaching all the way up to your belly button.
Willingly, you spread your legs to make space for him. The man rests his palm on your cheek, a surprisingly tender action.
God, look at you, baby.
You look up at him upon hearing his words, lips parting to allow the press of his thumb into your mouth. He groans when you swirl your tongue around the digit, eyes half-lidded.
Eren.
He moans again when you suck on his thumb.
You know for a fact that you must look like a complete mess: nearly naked, hair messy from sleep, mouth open and panting.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes out, drawing his hips back.
Tilting your gaze back up to him, your jaw slackens as he notches the tip into your opening. His eyes are wild, crazed as ever, while he pushes in, in, in—
You’re tight around him when he pushes into you. Despite your earlier orgasm, you squeeze Eren’s cock as he slowly– so slowly– slides inside of you. Eren's cock is so hot and thick as it pushes against your tight walls, and your eyes roll back into your head from the feeling of being filled.
His hand slides up to hook around your knee, as he starts to rock his hips back and forth against yours. “Fuck,” he whispers, and it sends chills down your spine. “What a great fucking way to start my morning.”
The angle has him directly pushing against your sweet spot with every thrust, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes open as he hits it again and again and again.
Eren’s pace is slow to prevent any more sounds than his laboured breathing and the faint rustling of your sleeping bag, and it’s driving you into a frenzy, hips thrusting up for more and more.
Your head leans back against the hard ground beneath you, fingernails digging into his wrist.
He continues to push into you, grunting. You pant beneath him, unable to do anything but watch and take him.
From this angle, you can see how your hole desperately clings to him, a sliver of pink being dragged along with his cock when he pulls out.
Eren pulls out an inch or so, part of his length that was in you now glossy. He pauses, only to thrust in further than he had before.
In this angle, you’re much tighter, making it more difficult for him to get his dick in. He’s long, sure, but the actual girth of him is a bigger issue for you to deal with, stretching you to the limit.
Loosen up, he grunts, giving your thigh a slap before pressing it to your chest. Gotta get in you.
And he goes back and forth, pulling out an inch only to push in further, further—
Eren– Oh my god–
He does nothing to help, save for gently shushing you as his thumb strokes lightly over your throbbing clit. You whine and thrash beneath him, wordlessly protesting the way he’s pushing so deep into you. The tip is flush against your cervix, pressing against the tight suction of the wall there. A dull cramp spreads like a cold sweat along your abdomen, your toes curling in objection.
Too much, you whine, tears beading at your lash line.
Shhh, shhh, is all he tells you quietly. You can take it. Don't want Jean to hear you, right?
You sniffle, shaking your head.
Good. I know you can be a big girl and take my cock.
Yes, please, I want it, want y–
You whisper, only to be rewarded with a deep kiss to your mouth.
The action is both a sweet touch and a curse, as he leans forward to kiss you, which also causes more of him to press in.
Whining against his lips, Eren uses his other hand to take your other leg, pressing your knee up to your chest. He takes advantage of it, gently hushing you with more quiet kisses that have you clenching up tight around his cock. The kiss tastes of mint, and the salt of your tears as the tight mating press he has you in allows for the rest of him to push deep, deep into places that’s only reserved for him.
I love you.
You blink up at him, tears clinging to your lashes like the dewy blades of grass outside.
You open your mouth to reply, but only a small choked sound escapes you. He merely grins, hands cupping your cheeks as he brushes several more stray tears from your cheeks.
Your cunt clenches around him, oozing your arousal around him.
Mm? Yeah, baby, I love you too. He chuckles, eyes locked on your entrance.
He’s still grinding against you, pelvis rubbing against your clit. You whine, thighs trembling against his chest. He’s so deep inside you it feels as though he’s pushed your lungs and other organs further up, all the way into your throat.
You could die happy like this, skewered on your boyfriend’s dick.
He thrusts lazily in and out of you, peppering your face with sweet pecks.
You groan, panting as he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, his heavy sack tapping against your ass with each pass. It’s getting stickier now, and you’re certain that if you could somehow crane your neck to an unnatural angle, you’d get to see a thick ring of your cream around the base of his dick.
It’s so much, feeling his massive cock throbbing as he pumps his hips. Wet clicking noises fill the tent, bouncing off the walls along with the creak of the cheap mattress that’s growing damp from your sweaty back.
Mmm? What is it, baby? Eren sees the small pinch in your eyebrows.
Want to– Need to cum.
Aren’t you going to ask nicely?
Please.
You sob, legs cramping up again when his cockhead brushes against that spot.
Your reaction and the way your already-skintight pussy clamps around him have him grinning. He knows exactly what it does to you when he aims for that specific spot, the short hairs at the base of his dick rubbing against your clit.
Attagirl, he laughs, derisive and mean as he reaches a hand down to rub his thumb over your clit.
Your chest tightens as the heat expands through your lower abdomen, trickling like electricity through your limbs. Breathing becomes difficult now, the pounding of your heartbeat against your eardrums robbing you of sound as Eren pounds your cunt.
He grunts into your neck as you squeeze around him. Both of you are sweaty from the heat of the tent, and his hips slide easily against yours. Despite his pace, each thrust has you trembling in his arms as you near release.
Give it to me, c’mon. Fuckin’ cum on my dick, he says, and you think he says it a little louder than he intends because he immediately presses his lips into the base of your neck to muffle any other sounds as he starts to increase his speed.
The shuffle of the sleeping bag is accompanied by the soft slapping of your skin as he starts to fuck you a little faster. His new pace has you shaking and gasping into his palm, squeezing tighter around his cock as he pushes you closer to another orgasm.
Before you know it, a wave of pain and pleasure crests over you, drowning you deep in the abyss.
With another audible whimper, you squeeze hard around his dick as your thighs fall closed, gasping and moaning into Eren’s hand as you cum around his cock, pulsing rhythmically around him as he fucks you through your contractions.
That’s it, baby. Fuck, you get so tight when you cum.
You see white, you taste infinity.
You cry out beneath him, back arching against the mattress he’s plowing you into.
The ecstasy he gives you buzzes like electricity across your body, lighting your nerves on fire.
Eren– You sob, shaking beneath him as the last dregs of the orgasm send rivulets of galvanic pleasure jolting through your body, oh my god–
He snarls, uncaring for the high-pitched weeping and yelps that escape you when he practically smothers you with his body.
His muscular chest pressed against yours– he ruts against you like a beast in heat. It’s less human and more animal as he fucks you, the bloody lines you leave in his back only goading him further.
You are held beneath him, trapped exactly where you want and need to be.
Tears of pain and pleasure run down your cheeks as you cling to him for dear life while he mauls you into the ground. The bag squeaks loudly in the tent, and you’re grateful that Jean is still, hopefully, sleeping.
He grunts, spit dripping from the corners of his mouth.
He fucks into you with rapidfire strokes that have your abdomen tensing up from the sharp ache. You’re cross-eyed with the pleasure, the heavy ache of pain. It’s a dull throb, but you don’t care.
He groans from deep in his chest and quickly pulls out, rolls you over onto your stomach, throwing his leg over your hips until he’s straddled above you. Eren reaches out for the base of your throat, while his other hand grabs at your ass.
His fingers squeeze your throat just a little, his breathing in soft puffs before letting out a grunt.
A tender kiss is planted onto your cheek. You whimper, angling your head in an attempt to catch his lips.
Don't worry, baby, he murmurs as your eyelashes flutter against your cheekbone. I got you.
Behind you, he groans, the sound sweet as he pushes into you. Your eyes flutter shut, lips parted as he leans his weight in, earning a noise from you as the thick tip spreads you open, allowing for the rest of him to follow after.
And then he’s pushing the rest of himself in, earning a choke from you as his tip presses deep into you. He doesn’t stop until his balls are pressed against your folds, nudging just a little at your clit.
Fuck, you’re so good to me. Can’t get enough of this pretty little pussy.
He breathes out through his nostrils, rubbing lightly against your cheek with the tip of his nose.
There you go. Good girl.
You can only groan into the air, fingers tugging and pulling at the sheets beneath both of you.
He begins moving. It’s torturous, really, him fucking you the way he is. Erratic, unpredictable, and perfect.
Eren moans breathily above you as he fucks into the tight heat of your pussy. All regard for sound management is gone as his hips pound into yours, hips slapping against your ass as you arch back into him. He spreads your ass open with the palm of his hand, watching his thick, wet cock as it disappears inside of your tight heat.
You whine, cunt squeezing and pulsing around nothing, only for him to sheathe himself once more into you. His tip presses up hard against the barrier wall separating him from your womb, and you tremble beneath him.
A cry escapes you as your fingers tug at the sleeping bag, half-muffling the sounds escaping your lips. He takes you like this, pliant and easy and prone on the ground.
This new angle has you seeing stars, drooling, and panting into your arm as the bag swishes beneath you.
You’re loud, wet, and messy, but it feels so good you can’t think straight.
Mmm, so good, he whispers, pumping his hips against your ass. Could be in you for hours.
You shiver at that, back arching slightly when a particular thrust has you squeezing like a vice around him.
The only thing you can do is lie there and take it, take his cock as you’ve always done for him. Whatever it is that he wants, you’re always more than willing to accommodate.
Eren!
You cry out when he hooks an arm under you, his tan fingers rubbing against your clit.
The sound of your pussy stretching wide around him is audible in the tent, and he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder. It isn’t enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to send more of your arousal leaking past his cock, trickling down to the fingertips playing with your nub.
I’m gonna cum–
You gasp, body trembling beneath Eren’s warm one.
His laugh is sweet and mocking, breath fanning against your bare flesh as he continues to fuck you in unpredictable movements.
So soon? We need to work on your stamina, he tells you.
You choke on your spit when his thrusts become intentional, moving in a specific pattern that you both know works best to tip you over the edge. Beneath him, you tremble, muscles clenching as he insistently works your sensitive bundle of nerves.
You cum again, or maybe you’re still feeling the shockwaves from the last one, as your pussy clenches around his cock, so hard it almost hurts as he fucks into the wet tightness of your cunt. Eren’s fingers dig marks into your ass as he breathes out a strangled groan, cock twitching inside of you through his frantic thrusts as he shoots hot ropes of cum inside of you.
Eren slows his pace gradually until his hips press flush against yours, and both of you are breathing hard in the heat of the tent. You can already feel the mess sliding out from inside of you against your thighs as his cock twitches against your tight, swollen walls.
He shifts his hips backwards, sliding his cock out and resting back down in the sleeping bag next to you. For warmth, you curl up into his arms, and he pulls the tarp down, off your shoulders.
“Fuck, baby. That was so good.” Eren’s voice was a low vibration against your temple. He nuzzled into the crown of your head, his hair damp with sweat and clinging to your skin.
You remained slumped against the sleeping bag, the cooling, wet slick between your thighs pooling beneath you, a sticky reminder of how loud the last twenty minutes had been. Eren grunted softly, a sound of pure, satisfied exhaustion, and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.
He moved with an effortless care, pulling you gently to your feet. The tent floor crinkled loudly in the silence of the woods. Eren knelt before you, his silhouette dark and broad as he pulled a pack of wipes from his bag. He began to clean the mess from your inner thighs with slow, methodical strokes.
Your eyes drifted past his shoulder. Just a few feet away, separated only by a thin rucksack and a change of clothes, Jean lay perfectly still. Your stomach twisted, a cold spike of guilt and shame blooming in your chest. The tent was small; the scent of sex was unmistakable, hanging in the air like a fog.
There was no way he hadn't heard the hitch in your breath or the way Eren’s name had broken on your lips. What would he think? The thought of Jean lying there, forced to listen to the intimacy he wasn't part of, made your skin prickle.
You were pulled back to the present when Eren hummed a low, vibrating note. He leaned in, pressing a final, fervent kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh where he’d just finished cleaning.
Oh–
“I love you too,” you mumbled, the words finally catching up to you. You hadn't been able to find the breath to say it while he was buried inside you.
Eren let out a dark, breathless chuckle. “Yeah, baby. I know.” He stood up, his hand sliding up your hip to pull you flush against him. “Wanna rinse off in the lake, or just wipe down before the hike?”
“The lake,” you whispered, glancing nervously at Jean’s prone form. “I feel… gross.”
“Sure thing, baby.” Eren’s eyes flashed with a sudden, playful spark in the dim light. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “Maybe we can go for round two in the water. I bet the cold will make you scream even louder.”
You swatted Eren’s chest, the sound of the smack muffled by his laughter. The playfulness carried you through the next hour: the shock of the lake water at dawn, the smell of woodsmoke, and the steady rhythm of packing your gear.
By the time the campfire was roaring, and the scent of charred bacon began to cut through the pine-heavy air, the tent flap finally hissed open.
Jean emerged looking like he’d survived a wreck. His hair was a sandy mess, and his eyes were bloodshot, tracking the sunlight with a wince. He was dressed for the trail in cargo jeans and a faded t-shirt that stretched tight across his shoulders, his walking boots already laced tight.
Eren sat on a stump, leaning back with a Winston dangling from his lips. He looked entirely too smug, a plume of grey smoke curling around his head.
“Wow. Look who’s alive,” Eren drawled, his voice gravelly.
Jean didn't look at him. He didn't look at you, either. He just grumbled something unintelligible, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands until the skin went red. He moved toward the percolator with the stiff gait of someone who hadn't slept a wink.
“Coffee’s hot,” you offered softly, trying to gauge his mood.
Jean finally flicked his gaze toward you. It was sharp, sharper than usual. “Is it? Surprised you had the energy to make it.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Eren didn't miss a beat, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. “Energy’s never been the problem, Jean-boy. You should’ve joined us for the swim. Might have cleared that stick out of your ass.”
“I’ll pass on the group activities for today,” Jean snapped, his fingers white-knuckled around his tin mug. He took a sip, the heat clearly scalding his tongue, but he didn't flinch.
Eren stood up, crushing his cigarette under the heel of his boot. “Suit yourself. We’re hitting the North Trail. It’s a three-hour climb to the ridge, but the view is worth it. Right, baby?” He slid an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest with a warm tug.
Jean’s eyes dropped to where Eren’s hand rested on your hip. He looked away quickly, staring into the treeline. “Three hours of listening to you two flirt like high schoolers? Riveting.”
“Don't be a dick, Jean,” Eren said, though he sounded more amused than angry. “You coming or are you gonna pout by the fire all day?”
Jean let out a long, jagged sigh, finally meeting your eyes. There was a flicker of something raw there. Not just annoyance, but a desperate, quiet pining that made your pulse skip.
“Fine,” Jean muttered, tossing the rest of his coffee into the dirt. “Let’s get it over with.”
The trail was narrow, slick with a morning dew that made the moss-covered stones feel like ice. Everywhere you looked, the forest was waking up: the rhythmic tap of a woodpecker, the heavy scent of damp earth, and the silver glint of spiderwebs stretched across the ferns.
The sun was at its zenith now, beating down with a relentless, golden heat that turned the trail into a shimmering corridor of dust and pine. The air was thick and still, the kind of heavy warmth that made your clothes feel like they were a size too small.
As you trudged up the incline, the physical reality of the morning settled into your bones. Your thighs felt heavy, the muscles twitching with a dull, persistent ache, and every step was a reminder of the way you’d been stretched out and thoroughly claimed.
Under the thin fabric of your tank top, your skin felt sensitive and raw. You knew what was there: a constellation of deep purple hickeys blooming across your collarbone and the soft slope of your neck, and the angry, red bite marks high on your inner thighs.
Eren stopped mid-stride, letting out a frustrated huff.
"Forget this," he muttered. With a fluid, practised motion, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. You caught a glimpse of the sharp lines of his obliques and the taut, bronzed muscle of his stomach before he twisted the fabric and tucked it firmly into the waistband of his jeans.
He looked back at you, his skin already gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, looking entirely too comfortable in his own skin.
Jean let out a sharp, derisive snort from a few paces ahead. "Always looking for an excuse to strip, aren't you, Yeager?"
"It’s called temperature control, Jean. You should try it before you pass out," Eren countered, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
Jean grumbled something beneath his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like a complaint about indecency, but the heat was clearly winning. He paused, his jaw working as he wrestled with his pride, before he finally followed suit.
He pulled his shirt off with a jagged, impatient tug, revealing a torso that was wider and more ruggedly built than Eren’s, carved from years of harder, more disciplined labour.
Suddenly, the forest felt a lot smaller. You were hiking through the middle of nowhere, flanked by two men who looked less like campers and more like ancient statues come to life. The sight of them, all golden skin, rippling muscle, and the salt-sweet scent of sweat, made the air in your lungs feel twice as thick.
Eren slowed his pace, dropping back until he was walking right beside you. His shoulder brushed yours, his bare skin hot and damp against your arm. He squinted at you, his green eyes scanning the line of your collarbone and the curve of your shoulder.
"Look at you," Eren murmured, his voice dropping into that low, playful register. He reached out, his thumb grazing the skin just above the neckline of your tank top. "You’ve tanned a hell of a lot being out here in the sun all day, baby."
He let his hand linger, his fingers tracing the new, dark line of your tan. "It looks good on you. Makes you look edible."
Jean’s head snapped around at that, his eyes zeroing in on where Eren’s hand was resting against your chest. He swallowed hard, the muscles in his back tensing as he watched the intimacy.
"She's burning, not tanning," Jean snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. It sounded strained, like he was trying to focus on anything other than the way your skin looked under Eren's touch. "We need to get to the shade of the ridge before she gets sunstroke."
Eren chuckled, sliding his hand from your chest to the small of your back, his bare forearm pressing against you. Eren was walking directly behind you now, his hand a constant, warm weight. Every time the incline steepened, his palm would slide lower, squeezing your hip or hooking a thumb into your belt loop to ‘guide’ you.
"Eren, I’m fine," you breathed, though your heart hammered against your ribs from the climb.
"Just making sure you don't slip, baby," he murmured, his voice leaning close to your ear. He nipped at the shell of it, his breath hot against the morning chill. "You've got jelly legs today. Can't imagine why."
A loud, aggressive thwack sounded from ahead. Jean had used a fallen branch to swat a low-hanging limb out of his way, sending a spray of cold dew back onto both of you.
"Watch it, Kirstein!" Eren barked, though he was grinning.
Jean didn't stop. He didn't even turn around. He just kept his pace, his shoulders tight under his pack. "Maybe if you spent less time feeling her up and more time watching your feet, we’d actually make it to the ridge before sunset."
"Someone's grumpy," Eren called out, his voice echoing off the rock faces. His hand slid boldly into your back pocket, his fingers squeezing firmly. "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
Jean didn't even look back, though his ears turned a sharp, angry red. "I woke up on the side that doesn't involve listening to a play-by-play of your ego, Yeager. Keep moving."
A few minutes later, the incline levelled out into a small, sun-drenched plateau. You leaned against a silver birch, your breath hitching. The heat was starting to climb, making the dew on your skin turn into a thin, salt-sweet sheen of sweat.
Your throat felt scorched, raw from Eren’s cock lodged within it on the lake’s shore, and no matter how much water you drank, you could still taste the lingering, briny saltiness of his cum on the back of your tongue.
"Water," you huffed.
Eren was there in an instant. He didn't just hand you the canteen; he uncapped it with a flourish and tipped your head back, his fingers hooked under your chin. "Open up, baby."
He poured the water in a steady, cool stream. Some of it missed, splashing over your lips and chin, trailing down the front of your shirt and making the fabric cling to your chest. Eren watched the droplets disappear into your cleavage with a predatory sort of hunger, his thumb reaching out to smear the moisture across your bottom lip.
Jean stood ten feet away, his back to you both, staring out at the valley below. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his thick shoulders hunched as if he could physically block out the sound of your soft gulps.
Then, Eren’s eyes sparked. He leaned in, his voice dropping. “Actually, I need to pee. Come on, baby.”
He didn't wait for an answer, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from the trail toward a thick cluster of ferns and ancient, gnarled oaks.
“Eren– what–” You stumbled on your feet, your boots catching on the undergrowth as he dragged you into the green-tinted shadows.
The moment you were behind the screen of a massive, moss-covered trunk, Eren’s need to pee vanished. He spun you around, his hands finding your waist and hoisting you up until your back was pressed against the rough bark.
"You're a liar," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his long, messy hair.
"I'm a man with needs," Eren grinned, his teeth white in the gloom. He didn't waste time; his hands were already pulling down your shorts, his fingers cold against your heated skin.
“Eren, stop,” you breathed, though your protest was weak. “You can’t be serious! This is the third time today–”
“So?” He didn’t let go. Instead, he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You’re so beautiful. Can’t help wanting you.
He let his hand slide down, his palm flat against your stomach, pulling you back into the hard planes of his body.
Your ass is hanging out of your shorts, baby. Wanna fuck it.
"What?! You can’t," you hissed, even as your legs buckled at his words. The thought of Jean sitting just thirty yards away, surrounded by the silence of the woods, while Eren fucks your ass, made your heart race with a frantic, shameful thrill.
“And what if I do?”
Your heart drops to your stomach, then heats up in cold sweat, skin breaking out in goosebumps.
“I– You–”
“What would you do to actually stop me, hm?” He asks, fingers in your hair and pulling your head back when you don’t respond.
“Eren–”
“I could just have my way with you in the fucking dirt, you know,” he breathes out, loosening his grip in your hair instead of pressing your head back against the trunk of the tree. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
The tip of his nose brushes against your cheek, and although you have half a mind to headbutt him, you turn your head to the side. It isn’t because you want to actually avoid physical contact with him, but because you’re so fucking flustered.
Tell me what you want, and I just might give it to you.
A shiver licks along your spine, and you nearly choke on a shuddering breath.
“I– I want you to fuck–” Your voice breaks off, too embarrassed to continue.
“Fuck?”
“My… my ass.” Your words are quiet, ashamed.
“Good girl, baby. So proud of you.” He spins you around, pressing your chest into the trunk of the tree.
“Mm, look at that,” he murmurs, and the hairs on your arms stand at attention at the cold air hitting your skin.
After he pulls down your shorts and pants in one go, his hands grab at your ass, squeezing and smacking it before spreading your cheeks apart. It’s demeaning and humiliating, and you stand there, nearly breathless in excitement as your boyfriend fawns over your ass, pulling your hips back to arch your spine better.
You hear the clink of his belt being undone, along with a zipper being pulled down.
Everything seems to be way too noticeable for you, your senses on high alert.
And you jolt a little as you feel his cold digits rubbing against the wet seam of your entrance.
So wet already? Do you get off to getting fucked in the woods, huh?
The shadows of the oaks were deep enough to hide the heat creeping up your neck, but they couldn’t hide the sound of Eren fumbling with his gear. There was the distinct skritch of a zipper, the rustle of nylon, and then a crisp, plastic click.
You peered over your shoulder, expecting him to be reaching for a snack or his phone. Instead, you saw the small, sleek bottle in his hand. A giggle bubbled out of you, half-shocked and half-delighted.
“You brought lube? On a hike?” You hissed, trying to keep your voice down. “Eren, what is wrong with you!”
Eren didn't look even remotely ashamed. He leaned back against a tree, tossing the bottle a few inches into the air and catching it with a cocky, lopsided grin. “Hey, it’s called being a Boy Scout. Be prepared, right?”
He stepped closer, the playful light in his eyes darkening into something more predatory as he crowded you back against the bark. “Besides, you’ve got an ass like a supermodel. It’s not my fault if I want to stay prepared.”
“Jean is thirty feet away!” you whispered, swatting at his arm even as your heart did a frantic somersault.
“Jean’s a big boy,” Eren murmured, his voice dropping into that gravelly, intimate register that always made your knees feel like water. He popped the cap with his thumb, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet grove. “He can mind his business.”
And hearing that lube squirted onto his hands got you more excited than it should. Eren dragged two deft fingers under the wetness oozing from your slit and slid the liquid backwards. He ran your own slick over your ass, working at the tight little hole with smooth fingers slicked up from your juices and lube. Little circles, soft prods, gently, until the tight muscle spreads open for him.
Spread it for me, baby. Let me see you.
A flush of heat invades your face. You writhe against the coarse bark of the tree, feeling utterly, thrillingly exposed. You feel so exposed like this, spreading your cheeks apart to give Eren better access while he slides in one thick finger, stretching your ass out slowly while you moan and clench against him.
You’re gonna take it so well, sweetheart, he says, curling that slick finger into your ass. Deeper, slowly, until it’s swallowed up completely. I know you are.
You nod as fast as you can, letting out a small whimper as Eren stretches your tight little hole with a second finger, making you feel so full.
So good.
He stays like that for what feels like forever, only gently pumping his fingers into your ass while leaning down to kiss your shoulders.
You barely notice his other hand creeping closer to your pussy, and you let out a sharp cry when he starts fingering your ass harder as his other hand begins to thumb at your clit.
It’s so much, too good, as you bite your lip to stop yourself from making more pathetic whimpers.
You know you’re gonna cum if he keeps this up, and no, no, that’s not what you want.
Yeah, I know, baby. You wanna cum with my cock in your ass. You know I’d never let you cum before that.
Your mouth drops open, back arching as it sinks into you fully. It makes you keen and pant.
Eren gives you a little at a time. A little more, and then a little more, until your ass is stretched open around three fingers.
Until you’re gasping, with your pussy empty, neglected, and dripping down your thighs. Until your ass is ready for something bigger.
Are you ready for me?
Yes, Eren, please.
After a few more thrusts, he eases his fingers out of you, giving your pussy a light smack as he does so.
Then just relax, he murmurs lazily. Relax, so I can give it to you.
It’s an effort, but you manage to crane your neck down and watch as Eren spreads your ass cheeks apart, rubbing the head of his cock against your tiny little hole before pressing in. At the same time that you let a slow, purposeful breath out, he feels your asshole give a little under the tip.
He’s slow. Deliberate. letting you take him inch by inch until your head falls against the tree, allowing yourself to just breathe.
Your mouth opens as you feel the stretch, and then you moan quietly: Oh, fuck.
You okay, baby? Ready for a little more?
Yeah, I want more.
The more he fills you, the closer to relief you feel. Your ass can barely take it; your insides are starting to twitch even as he’s still feeding you the length of his cock. Your pussy is painfully empty, but your ass is stuffed so full that you’re already close.
When he finally, finally bottoms out, you feel so full that it’s like there’s no space for you, just Eren.
And when he’s buried all the way inside, the ring of your ass clenching around the base of his dick, and the tip pressing into some spot deep in you that makes you gasp, Eren puts two soft fingers on your clit and rubs.
And just like that, you’re spilling over, and your ass is clenching again and again on his cock. Eren watches as you cum, watches the faces you make with a sort of mild amusement.
He leans over you: fucked out, head hazy, his dick still twitching in your ass, still hard as he watches your arousal cum dribble down the outside of your pussy.
God, you're so easy. Does that feel good? You like it when I stretch your little ass out on my cock?
Your words come out jumbled as he pummels into you, the waves of your orgasm still rippling through you. But you keep taking it, deeper and deeper. Moans tumble from your lips, more obscene the more you take, lewd sounds that make Eren’s lips quirk up while his eyes flit from your face to your full, clenching ass.
You want this to be endless, Eren’s cock filling you up over and over again, and looking up at him, you can see it in his face, too. He’s looking at the way his cock spreads open your tiny hole like it’s unreal, and you let out a broken moan when Eren reaches down and thumbs around the rim of your asshole that’s stretched so nicely around his cock.
Feels good, baby? Want me to put a load in your ass?
You're nodding mindlessly, your mouth open around a moan. It still feels good when you’re coming down, your whole body still tight and pulsing, Eren pumping into your tight hole with his face buried in your neck, biting hard when he pulses inside you.
Eren cums hard. All rough thrusts that make your sensitive hole twitch until he melts on top of you, pulling out gently only after pressing a messy kiss against your cheek with heavy breathing. Your ass is a mess of lube, Eren’s spend, and you’ve never felt better.
The canopy above swayed, the leaves whispering as if they were in on the secret. You were bent over, palms pressed against the rough, lichen-covered bark, your breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches.
Behind you, Eren was a wall of solid, radiating heat, his chest heaving in sync with your own.
"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice a low rumble. "You’re shaking."
"My legs..." you panted, your head hanging low as you tried to find your centre. "Eren, they're going to give out."
"I've got you," he murmured, his hands gripping your hips so hard his knuckles were white. He leaned forward, pressing his sweaty forehead against the back of your neck. "Just a few more. Don't let go yet."
When he finally pulled out, the sudden absence of him inside you felt cold against the humid forest air. You slumped forward, your forehead resting on the tree, listening to the frantic thrum of your pulse in your ears.
Eren let out a long, jagged exhale of victory, looking down at the slick, messy evidence of his handiwork. That sight of your little hole, so stretched out, in the thick shape of his cock, so he can see inside of you, does something carnal to him.
"Look at you," he chuckled, his voice thick with pride. "Absolutely ruined."
He reached into his pack, pulling out a wad of paper towels. He knelt behind you, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wiped you down, cleaning the mess from your thighs with slow, deliberate strokes. He didn't seem to care that Jean was just behind the treeline; he was taking his time, savouring the aftermath.
"There," he said, standing up and tugging your pants back into place. He zipped you up with a sharp clack, then leaned down to press a firm, possessive kiss to the top of your head. "Good as new. Mostly."
“No more sex today,” you mumble, your voice cracking slightly as you try to find your footing.
The reality of the day was finally settling into your bones. Between the frantic morning in the tent, the cold shock of the lake, and the desperate friction against that oak tree just minutes ago, you were physically spent.
You felt heavy, sore, and thoroughly stretched out.
Eren let out a low, humming laugh, but he didn't pull away. He just tucked a stray, sweat-damp lock of hair behind your ear, his touch uncharacteristically soft. “Alright, alright. I hear you, baby. No more sex.”
The walk back to the clearing was a test of willpower. Every muscle in your legs felt like lead, and the inner friction of the hike was now compounded by a fresh, sensitive ache. Eren walked beside you, swinging his arms, looking like he’d just won a marathon.
As the trail opened up, you saw Jean. He was leaning against a weather-worn signpost, still delightfully shirtless, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked like a statue.
He didn't say anything as you stumbled into the light. He just watched. His eyes tracked the way you walked, the slight, tell-tale heaviness in your stride, and then moved to Eren, who was whistling a low, tuneless melody.
As you and Eren approached, Jean’s nostrils flared. He didn't say a word, but his gaze dropped to the ruffled hem of your shirt, then up to Eren’s smug, lopsided grin.
"Where the fuck were you?" Jean said. His voice was flat, devoid of the usual snark. It was the voice of someone who had spent the last twenty minutes thinking about things he couldn't unsee.
"Nature called," Eren said with a shrug, his grin wide and unrepentant. "A lot of nature.”
Jean’s gaze finally settled on you. He saw the flush on your neck, the way you wouldn't meet his eyes, and the sheer smell of the cum and sweat that followed you.
"Ready?" Eren asked, clapping Jean on the shoulder as he walked past.
Jean flinched away from the touch, his jaw tight enough to crack. He stood up, swinging his pack on with a violent jerk of his arms. "Yeah, let’s go."
The trail continued to climb, the forest opening up into a vibrant, sun-drenched meadow. The sky was an impossible shade of cerulean, and the birdsong was a sharp, cheerful contrast to the heavy, complicated silence between the three of you. You followed behind them, your gait slightly limp. It's a rhythmic, dull ache in your hips serving as a constant reminder of Eren’s girth.
Then, the path was cut by a mountain stream. It wasn't deep, but the water was fast and icy, rushing over smooth, mossy stones that looked like slick glass.
Eren hopped across the rocks with the casual grace of a predator, landing on the far bank without a splash. He turned back, his face glowing in the sunlight, but he didn't reach a hand out. Instead, he leaned against a willow tree, wiping sweat from his brow.
"I’m tired, baby," he called out, his voice laced with a lazy, post-coital exhaustion. He caught Jean’s eye, a challenge flickering in his gaze. "Jean, you’re the big guy. Carry her across so she doesn't get her boots wet. I’m beat."
You blinked, your face heating up. "Eren, I can walk. It’s just a few feet–"
"Don't be stubborn," Jean interrupted. His voice was gruff, but the edge had softened into something deeper. He stepped into the shallow water, the current swirling around his heavy boots, and stopped right in front of you. "The moss is slick. If you slip with those shaky legs, you're going for a swim."
Before you could protest again, Jean reached out. One arm slid behind your knees and the other behind your back, hoisting you up in one fluid, powerful motion.
A small gasp escaped you as you instinctively hooked an arm around his neck for balance. Jean was solid: broader than Eren, his chest like a wall of granite against your side. He smelled of cedar, and the faint, sharp tang of his own pining.
He stepped carefully through the rushing water, his focus entirely on his footing. Being this close to him felt dangerous in a different way than it did with Eren.
With Eren, it was a fire you knew; with Jean, it was a slow-burning heat that felt like it might consume you both.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the babbling brook.
“No worries,” Jean replied. He reached the far bank but didn't put you down immediately. He held you for a beat too long, his thumb pressing firmly into the fabric of your shorts, right where Eren’s hands had been an hour ago.
He leaned down, his lips ghosting near your ear as he set you gently onto a dry patch of grass. “You know,” he murmured, his voice thick and private, meant only for you. “I would have carried you the whole way up this mountain if you’d asked. You don't have to get fucked just to get my attention.”
You gasp, eyes wide in shock. He pulls back, his eyes searching yours with a raw, aching honesty that made your breath hitch. Before you could say a word, he straightened up and walked past a grinning Eren, his jaw set once more.
The final ascent was a blur of golden light and shimmering heat. The trees began to warp and shrink, twisted by the high-altitude winds into gnarled skeletons of silver wood. You were leaving the world of shadows and thickets behind, rising into a space where everything was exposed, vast, and terrifyingly beautiful.
Your legs burned, the ache Eren had left behind now a pulsing throb that hummed in time with your heartbeat.
Then, the ground levelled out.
The summit wasn't a peak, but a wide, flat plateau of sun-bleached stone. To the west, the valley floor was a tapestry of emerald and gold, bisected by the silver ribbon of the river you'd just crossed. To the east, jagged blue peaks marched toward the horizon like the spine of some sleeping god. The wind up here was different; clean, cold, and smelling of nothing but sky.
"Holy shit," Eren breathed. He walked to the very edge of the precipice, his silhouette sharp against the endless blue. He looked like he belonged there, wild and unbound.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of Winstons. The flick-flick of his lighter was the only sound in the vast silence. He took a long drag, the cherry glowing bright even in the midday sun, and exhaled a plume of smoke that the wind instantly snatched away.
Jean stood a few paces back, his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. He wasn't looking at the view. He was looking at you, his chest still heaving slightly from the weight of carrying you across the water.
"Was it worth it?" Jean asked quietly. It wasn't a jab this time. He sounded genuinely struck by the scale of the world around him, his bitterness momentarily eclipsed by the sheer beauty of the heights.
"Yeah," you whispered, stepping up between them.
Eren reached out without looking, his arm hooking around your waist to pull you against his side. He smelled of tobacco and salt. On your other side, Jean didn't move away. He stayed close, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his arm, a silent, steady presence.
For a moment, the friction of the hike vanished. There were just the three of you, suspended between the earth and the clouds, the only living things in a world of stone and wood.
The summit was so silent you could hear the faint whistle of the wind through the gaps in the rocks. It felt like the top of the world, a place where the usual rules of the valley didn't apply.
"We need a photo," you said, your voice sounding small against the vastness. "To prove we actually made it."
Eren snorted, flicking his cigarette ash into the wind. "My legs are proof enough, but sure, baby. Let's do it."
You set your phone up against a flat rock, propping it with a small stone and setting the timer. You hurried back to where they stood. You took the middle, naturally. Eren was on your right, his arm immediately dropping over your shoulder, his fingers digging into your collarbone with his usual easy possessiveness.
Jean was on your left. He hesitated for a second, his body stiff, before stepping in.
"Get closer, Kirstein," Eren provoked, his voice lazy. "You’re gonna be out of the frame."
Jean grumbled something about wide-angle lenses, but he shifted, his shoulder pressing firmly against yours. The timer on the screen began to blink–
3... 2...
As the shutter clicked, Jean’s hand, which had been hovering awkwardly, slid around the back of your waist. It wasn't a quick, polite touch for the camera. His palm was broad and hot, and his fingers splayed across the small of your back, pulling you flush against his side. It was a mirror of Eren’s hold, creating a symmetry that made your breath hitch.
The camera flashed.
In the silence that followed, Jean didn't pull away.
His thumb began to move, a slow, unconscious stroke against the fabric of your shirt, right above the curve of your hip. It was a lingering, heavy touch, one that spoke of the river crossing and the hours of listening to you and Eren in the dark.
Eren felt the shift. You saw his eyes drop, tracking the movement of Jean's hand on your body.
The air went tight. You waited for the snap: the sarcastic comment, the shove, the territorial bark.
But it didn't come.
Eren just took a slow drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowing as he watched Jean’s fingers. A slow, cryptic smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He didn't stop him. Instead, Eren pulled you a little tighter from his side, effectively sandwiching you between them.
"Nice shot?" Eren asked, his voice low and vibrating with a new kind of interest.
Jean finally seemed to realise what he was doing and stiffened, but he didn't recoil. He looked at Eren, a silent, defiant challenge in his eyes, his hand remaining firmly anchored to your waist.
"Yeah," Jean said, his voice rough. "Great shot."
The silence was back, but a dizzying three-way heat was replacing the earlier shame.
The descent was a blur of cramping muscles and a strange, humming silence. By the time the campfire was crackling again back at the base, the sun was sinking, painting the sky in dark purples and deep oranges.
You were collapsed on a folding chair, your back a tight knot of exhaustion and lingering tension from the day’s activities.
"Eren," you groaned, leaning forward to stretch your spine. "My shoulders are killing me. Please."
Eren was busy stirring a pot of beans over the fire, looking deceptively domestic. He looked up, a familiar, wicked glint in his eyes. He flexed his fingers, shaking them out with an exaggerated wince.
"Ah, sorry, baby. My hands are totally cramped from the climb. Carrying all that gear, you know?"
He didn't look sorry at all. He looked like he was setting a trap.
He turned his head, his gaze landing on Jean, who was over by the tent, cleaning his boots.
"Hey, Jean," Eren called out, his voice smooth. "You've got those strong ranch hands, don't you? Give her a rubdown. She’s aching, and I’m out of commission."
Jean froze. The cloth in his hand stopped mid-swipe. He looked at Eren, then at you, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight. "You're serious?"
"Course I am," Eren said, returning his attention to the pot, though he was definitely watching out of the corner of his eye. "Help a girl out. Unless you're too tired, too?"
Jean didn't answer. He stood up slowly, his tall frame casting a long, imposing shadow across the dirt. He walked over to you, the air around him feeling ten degrees hotter than the campfire. He stepped behind your chair, and for a moment, he just stood there. You could feel the heat of him at your back, steady and grounding.
Then, his hands landed on your shoulders.
You let out a soft, involuntary gasp. His hands were huge: warm, calloused, and firm. Unlike Eren’s playful, wandering touch, Jean’s grip was deliberate. He dug his thumbs into the base of your neck, finding the exact centre of your stress and kneading it with a slow, rhythmic pressure.
"God," you whispered, your head falling forward.
"You're tight," Jean murmured. His voice was a low rumble right behind your ear, vibrating through your skin. "You've been carrying a lot of tension today."
Eren whistled a low note, stirring the beans with a smug satisfaction. "See? I told you he was the man for the job. Lean into it, baby."
Jean didn't look at Eren. His focus was entirely on you. His hands moved lower, his palms sliding over your shoulder blades, his thumbs tracing the line of your spine.
It wasn't just a massage; it was a claim.
Every time his callouses caught on your skin, it felt like a silent conversation– an acknowledgement of the pining he’d been doing all day and the permission Eren had just given him to finally touch you.
"Better?" Jean asked, his hands sliding down to the small of your back, lingering just above the waistband of your shorts.
"Yeah," you breathed, feeling dizzy. "Much better."
Eren stood up, setting the spoon aside. He walked over, standing in front of you so you were effectively boxed in, with Jean behind you, Eren in front. Eren reached out, tilting your chin up with his soot-stained fingers.
"Good," Eren whispered, his eyes flicking from you to Jean. "Because the night’s still young, and I think we’re all done being tired."
By some unforeseen twist of fate, a quarter of an hour passes, and you find yourselves sat in a loose circle around the crackling campfire, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and anticipation. Amber flames dance and flicker, casting long, playful shadows that stretch and writhe across the surrounding foliage. Cans of icy beer are clutched in your hands, their metallic surfaces gleaming in the firelight, as the game of truth or dare commences.
Jean took a long swig, his throat bobbing. He looked back at the fire, the tension from the massage still simmering in his limbs. “What are we, fifteen?” he muttered, though there was no real bite in it. “Fine, whatever. Let’s play.”
Eren grinned, leaning back against a log and stretching his legs out. “Okay, baby, you’re first. Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” you said, your voice small against the vast, quiet woods.
“What’s your biggest fear?”
“Um… I’m really scared of spiders,” you admitted, looking around at the dark undergrowth nervously. “Snakes, too. Especially out here.”
Eren let out a dark, amused huff, flicking his ash into the embers. “That’s boring, baby. Come on, what is it really?”
You looked into the dancing flames, the warmth of the alcohol beginning to blur the edges of your anxiety. “Probably… getting cheated on. That’s scary.”
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The fun of the game hit a snag of raw, human vulnerability. Eren’s smirk softened into something more serious, his gaze dropping to his boots. Beside you, Jean’s hand tightened around his beer can until the aluminium crinkled.
The irony of the day, the shared glances, the lingering touches, the way Jean had been pulled into your orbit, hung heavy in the air.
“That’s not going to happen,” Eren said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
You cleared your throat, wanting to move past the heaviness. You looked over at Jean. He was staring at you with an almost pained expression, his amber eyes reflecting the fire.
“Okay, you next,” you said, nudging Eren’s knee. “Truth or dare?”
Eren leaned back, his head tilted toward the stars, looking entirely too comfortable. “Truth. Why not? Keep the honesty flowing.”
“What was your first impression of me?”
Eren’s eyes dropped from the sky to yours, and for a second, the cocky smirk vanished. “Oh god,” he rasped, a short, breathless laugh escaping him. “I wanted to eat you up. You were so shy, so pretty... I honestly thought you were sent as a joke, or something. Like, there was no way someone like you was actually real and standing in front of me.”
He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, before his gaze flickered over to Jean. The soft moment was gone, replaced by that competitive, sharp-eyed glint.
“Your turn, Jean,” Eren drawled, his voice dropping into a challenge. “Truth or dare?”
Jean’s jaw was a hard line. He looked at the fire, then at the beer in his hand, his posture stiff. “...Truth.”
Eren let out a dry, mocking hum. “Playing it safe? After everything today? Hm… okay.” He took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke through his nose like a dragon. “When was the last time you got off?”
Jean nearly choked on his beer. “What?”
Eren shrugged, his expression a picture of feigned innocence. “I’m just asking. Part of the game, right? We’re all adults here, Jean-boy. No secrets in the woods.”
“What the fuck, dude?” Jean snapped, his face flushing a deep, angry crimson that had nothing to do with the fire. He looked at you, his eyes wide and mortified for a split second before he looked away, taking a long, aggressive swig of his beer to buy himself time.
The silence was deafening, save for the rhythmic thrum of the forest around you. Finally, Jean lowered the can, his voice barely a growl. “Alright. It was a few days ago. Before we left.”
Eren’s laugh was short and sharp, lacking any real bite but dripping with smugness. “Makes sense. You’re so pent up, probably got blue balls from listening to us all day.”
Jean’s hand tightened around the aluminium again until it crinkled with a sharp pop. He turned his head slowly, his eyes burning with a mixture of suppressed rage and a desire so thick it was almost tangible.
“You’re really pushing it tonight, Yeager,” Jean whispered.
“Am I?” Eren countered, leaning forward into the light. “Or am I just the only one brave enough to say what we’re all thinking?”
The firelight danced in Jean’s eyes, reflecting a mix of irritation and something much more desperate. He wasn't just playing a game anymore; he was trying to claw back some ground.
"What– fuck you, man," Jean muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glared at Eren, the challenge finally accepted. "Truth or dare?"
Eren leaned back, the picture of casual confidence, even as his arm remained draped possessively over your shoulders. "Truth," he said, a sharp glint in his eyes. "Since you two are too scared to take the plunge."
Jean’s jaw clenched so hard you heard the bone pop. "Alright. What's your body count?"
Eren let out a dark, throatier chuckle, shaking his head. "C'mon, man, you knew me in college. You trying to get my girlfriend mad at me?" He glanced at you, his thumb tracing the curve of your shoulder. "It’s at least 15. Sorry, baby."
You felt a flush that had nothing to do with the alcohol. "It’s okay," you mumbled, leaning into his side. "I... I don't mind."
Eren’s gaze softened for a split second before it turned electric again. He was energised by the honesty, by the way the mountain air seemed to strip everything down to the basics. "Okay, baby," he whispered, his breath smelling of tobacco smoke and beer. "Why don't you do a dare? Hm? Get your hands dirty."
"No..." you murmured, your heart racing. "I'll stick with truth."
"Okay, okay. Boring," Eren leaned forward, pulling you with him so you were both closer to the heat of the flames, and closer to Jean. "Who’s more attractive? Out of the two of us?"
The question hit the clearing like a lightning strike. The woods seemed to go dead silent. Even the crickets stopped. You sat frozen, your eyes darting from Eren’s sharp, rugged features and emerald eyes to Jean’s striking, golden-brown gaze and the blunt, handsome strength of his jawline.
They were both devastating in different ways: Eren was the storm you’d walked into, and Jean was the steady, burning heat you hadn't expected to crave.
"I won't be mad, baby, I promise," Eren encouraged, though his grip on your waist tightened just a fraction.
Jean didn't say a word. He didn't even breathe. He just watched you, his hands resting on his knees, his shirtless torso gleaming in the firelight. The vulnerability in his expression was a silent plea.
"No, no, I can't pick," you stammered, the beer finally loosening the knot in your chest. "You're both..."
"Both what?" Eren prompted, his voice a low, smooth vibration.
"You're both really hot," you mumbled, burying your face slightly in Eren's neck to hide your burning cheeks.
Eren let out a triumphant, barking laugh that echoed off the trees. He tugged you into his side, planting a loud, wet kiss on your cheek that made you giggle despite the tension. "Hear that, Jean-boy? You're officially really hot."
Jean didn't scoff this time. He just let out a long, shaky breath, his gaze dropping to your lips before he popped open another can of beer.
The fire popped, a sharp crack of wood that sounded like a gunshot in the heavy silence. Eren’s arm was a warm, heavy weight across your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with a strand of your hair as he watched Jean with the focused intensity of a predator who had finally cornered its prey.
"You're an angel," Eren murmured to you, pressing a lingering, smoky kiss to your temple before his eyes snapped back to the man across the flames. "Truth or dare, Jean?"
Jean’s throat bobbed. He looked cornered, the firelight catching the sweat on his collarbone. "Truth."
"You ever wanted to fuck my girlfriend?"
The question was blunt, devoid of any playfulness. It hung in the air, vibrating between them. Jean went dead silent. He didn't scoff, he didn't roll his eyes, and he didn't throw a sarcastic jab. He just stared into the embers, his jaw working as if he were chewing on the honesty of it.
Then, he nodded. It was a quick, restrained movement– the jagged admission of a man who had spent the last twenty-four hours in a private hell of pining.
Your stomach dropped in a wild, dizzying lurch of shock and a hot, treacherous spike of lust. You looked at Jean, really looked at him, and saw the raw hunger he had been trying to bury under sarcasm all day.
Eren let out a long, low whistle from behind you, his chest vibrating against your back. "Well, took you long enough to admit it, huh?" He didn't sound angry. He sounded alive, fueled by the danger of the moment. He squeezed your waist, his voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial purr. "Hey, baby?"
"Yeah?" you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it was hard to breathe.
"Truth or dare?"
"Truth," you mumbled, the word barely escaping your lips.
Eren leaned in, his lips brushing your ear so Jean could see the movement, but hear every word. "Have you ever thought about Jean like that?"
The silence that followed was different from the others. It wasn't tense; it was expectant. Jean was leaning forward now, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on your face with a desperate, burning curiosity.
He was waiting for you to confirm the electricity you’d both felt at the river, the way your hand had lingered on his neck when he carried you.
The silence was so heavy it felt physical, pressing down on you alongside the humid night air. Your stomach dropped, a wave of dizzying nausea cresting as you realised there was no escape. You couldn’t lie; Eren’s eyes were too sharp, too knowing. He’d seen the way you looked at Jean’s back on the trail, the way your breath hitched when Jean touched your waist for the photo. But saying it out loud felt like crossing a border you could never return from.
"What's the matter, huh?" Eren’s voice was a smooth vibration against your ear. He could feel you trembling. "Getting all worked up over Jean, yeah? It’s okay, I know, baby. I’ve always known."
He looked across the fire at Jean, his grin sharp and unrepentant. "It’s just a game, right, Jean? No harm in a little honesty."
Jean’s eyes were dark, his knuckles white as he gripped his knees. "You're so fucked up, Jaeger. Seriously." His voice was a ragged growl, caught between fury and a desperate, suffocating desire to hear your answer.
Eren just laughed, the sound cold and bright. He shifted, his arm falling from your shoulder as he leaned back, giving you space– but the space felt like an invitation to a cliff’s edge. He took a final, slow drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the embers.
"Let's move past the talking," Eren said, his voice dropping into a command. "I’ve got a dare for you, baby.”
He pointed a finger toward Jean, who looked like he was vibrating with tension.
"I dare you to get up, walk over there, and sit in Jean's lap.”
"No way–" you start, the word dying in your throat as you look at Eren.
"Yes way. Go on, get up there," he commands. Before you can argue, he reaches out and sends you toward the other side of the campfire with a loud, stinging smack to your ass. The sound echoes sharply through the quiet woods, a jarring punctuation to the dare.
You stumble forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. The walk around the flickering embers feels like a trek through a fever dream. Jean is a statue, his jaw set so hard you can see the muscle jumping in his cheek.
As you approach, he doesn't shy away; he spreads his legs to accommodate you, his thick, rippling thighs straining against the denim of his jeans. Even in the dim light, the tightness at his groin, right beneath that heavy, vintage belt buckle, is impossible to miss.
He looks up at you, his golden-brown eyes dark with a mix of defiance and raw, unadulterated hunger. He opens his arms, his voice a low, gravelly grunt that vibrates in your very marrow.
“Come on, then.”
The sheer sound of his voice makes your legs weak and your head spin. You lower yourself, perching onto his lap so you’re facing Eren, who is watching from across the flames with the satisfied look of a king on his throne.
The moment you settle, the heat of Jean is overwhelming. He’s a furnace. One of his massive arms comes around your waist, his palm flat and heavy against your thigh, anchoring you to him. You instinctively drape one of your arms around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs at his nape. You feel him lean in, his nose pressing firmly into the sensitive skin of your neck, and you hear the long, discrete, deep inhale he takes, as if he’s trying to pull the very scent of you into his lungs.
Across the fire, Eren leans back, his silhouette framed by the glowing coals. He takes a slow sip of his beer, his eyes dancing over the sight of you being held by his best friend.
"Comfy?" he smirks, his voice dripping with a dark, vicarious thrill. "You look like you fit right in over there, baby. Doesn't she, Jean?"
Jean doesn't answer with words. He just tightens his grip on your thigh, his fingers digging in slightly, while his other hand rises to rest on the small of your back, holding you flush against his chest.
"You're awfully quiet over there, Kirstein," Eren provoked, his voice dropping into a low, silky register.. "Thought you'd have more to say now that you've finally got what you wanted.”
Jean’s chest was a broad, heaving wall of warmth against you. You could feel the frantic thrum of his heart through his ribs, a heavy thump-thump that matched your own. His arm was wrapped around your waist, his grip so tight it was almost a bruise, but he remained frozen.
"I'm doing the dare, Jaeger," Jean rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over broken glass. "Don't push me."
"I'm not pushing. I'm just noticing," Eren countered. He leaned forward, the light of the embers dancing in his green eyes. "I'm noticing how much you're holding back. It’s pathetic, really."
Jean let out a low, warning grunt, his fingers digging into your thigh.
"So let's finish the game properly," Eren said, his voice turning cold and commanding.
"Jean. I dare you to stop being a coward. I dare you to kiss her. Right now. I want to see exactly how long you’ve been thinking about it. I want to see if you can even handle her."
Jean’s body went rigid. The heat radiating off him was stifling. He looked down at you, his golden-brown eyes searching yours with a desperate, burning intensity. He was looking for a reason to stop, or a reason to finally let go of the leash.
"You want this?" Jean whispered to you, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the wood.
He reached up, his large, calloused hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, trembling just enough to betray how much this was costing him. When he finally leaned in, it wasn't the sharp, demanding heat you were used to with Eren. Jean’s lips were soft, cautious at first, ghosting over yours in a silent question before he finally committed.
The contact was electric. He tasted of cold beer and salt, and the moment his mouth fully claimed yours, you felt yourself go limp, melting into him like butter over a stack of hot pancakes.
A low, broken sound rumbled in Jean’s chest, a half-groan, half-sigh of relief, as he realized you were kissing him back. He deepened the contact, his head until he found a better angle. His tongue was slow and thorough, lapping at your bottom lip with a rhythmic, coaxing pressure that made your toes curl inside your boots.
It wasn't just a kiss; it was a slow-motion collapse of every wall he’d built today.
While his mouth worked over yours, his hand at your waist began to move. His fingers dug into the soft skin just above your hip, massaging the muscle with that strength Eren had mocked, but now it felt like a lifeline. He pulled you closer, hitching your hips higher against his until you could feel the unmistakable, rigid heat of him through the denim of his jeans, pressing right against your core.
Lost in the haze of him, you wrapped both of your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling desperately in the hair at the base of his skull. You pulled him closer, needing to close the infinitesimal gap between you. The scent of him– woodsmoke, sweat– filled your head until you were dizzy.
Across the fire, the only sound was the steady, rhythmic crackle of the wood and the long, slow exhale of Eren’s breath. He stayed perfectly still, his eyes wide and dark as he watched Jean’s large hands disappear under the hem of your shirt, charting the territory Eren had marked only hours before.
Jean’s kiss grew more desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to tangle with yours, tasting of a hunger that had been starving for months. He was thorough, devouring you with a quiet desire.
The heat between you and Jean was so thick it felt like it could stifle the fire. When he finally pulled back, the air hitting your swollen, damp lips felt freezing. Jean was breathing hard, his pupils so dilated his eyes looked like pits of dark ink. The sudden absence of his mouth made you whimper, a small, pathetic sound that seemed to snap him back to reality.
His head turned sharply toward the other side of the flames, his gaze landing on Eren.
"There," Jean rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. "Happy now?"
Eren didn't look angry. If anything, he looked mesmerised. He had relit a cigarette, the blue smoke curling around his face in the moonlight, but his other hand was busy, palming himself lazily through the fabric of his shorts, his eyes locked on the way you were draped over Jean’s lap.
"Don't let me stop you two," Eren murmured, his voice a low, dark purr. "I'm enjoying the view. Keep going."
"Eren–" you breathed, your voice trembling.
But as he leaned forward, the light caught his face, and the hardness you expected wasn't there. His expression had softened, his eyes tracking the way Jean’s hand was still buried in your hair with a look that was more appreciative than angry.
"It's okay, baby," Eren murmured, his voice surprisingly tender amidst the smoke. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the embers illuminating the calm sincerity in his gaze. "As long as you want it. I’m not going anywhere."
Jean’s jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away from you. Instead, he turned his focus back to your face, his hand sliding from your waist to cup the back of your head, his thumb stroking your temple. His expression had softened from the aggressive challenge of the game into something dangerously tender.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice dropping to a private whisper meant only for you.
"Mhm," you breathed. Your thoughts were slipping through your fingers like dry sand, every coherent worry about rules or loyalty dissolving. All you could focus on was the man holding you, the solid, broad-shouldered reality of Jean.
Jean let out a low, breathy chuckle at your dazed response. It was a sound of pure, masculine satisfaction.
Such a sweet girl, aren’t you? He murmured, his nose brushing against yours as he tilted his head. Just needed a kiss, yeah? Needed someone to take care of you. Be nice to you.
The way he emphasized nice felt like a subtle dig at Eren’s rougher, more chaotic energy. His hand slid down your spine, his palm flat and warm, pressing you firmly against his chest. He was treating you like something precious, yet the way his hips shifted beneath you told a different story.
"Don’t be shy, Jean," Eren grunted, his voice a low vibration that travelled through your skin. "Tell her what to do. She likes that, don’t you, baby?"
Jean’s expression faltered for a second, a flicker of that old reluctance crossing his features. He looked at Eren, a quick, sharp glance that said he still felt like he was trespassing, but then his gaze dropped back to you, and his resolve crumbled.
He couldn't help it. Having you in his lap, tasting you, had broken something inside him.
"I shouldn't be doing this," Jean murmured, more to himself than to you. His hand moved from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you just a fraction closer. "Fuck, you’re so beautiful."
His hand rose to your face, his touch startlingly gentle. He cupped your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip before he slowly, tentatively, dipped the pad of it into your mouth. The intimacy of it was staggering.
Is that true, sweetheart? Jean asked. His voice was thick, lacking Eren’s sharp edge. It was soft, almost pleading, as if he needed your permission to go any further into this madness. Do you want me to tell you what to do?
You nodded shyly, your teeth grazing the edge of his thumb.
"See, Jean?" Eren prompted, his voice a dark, encouraging purr. "She’s a good girl, isn’t she?"
Jean swallowed hard, his throat bobbing against the back of your hand. He looked torn, his conscience still putting up a fight even as his body betrayed him. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours, closing his eyes for a moment.
Hey.
The word is quiet. It cuts through your daze and draws your attention back to the man beneath you. Jean’s voice has shifted; the reluctance is gone, replaced by a low, commanding grit. It’s the voice of someone used to giving orders, laying out a timeline that makes your belly swoop and your insides clench in a sudden, tight knot of anticipation.
“Your choice,” he murmurs, his amber eyes locked on yours. “You go to the tent. Tomorrow, this didn't happen. Nothing changes. We go back, and I’m just your boyfriend’s friend again.”
You swallow hard, your heart stuttering against your ribs like a trapped bird. It’s hard to make your mouth move, to find the breath to shape the words. “If I don’t?”
Jean’s tongue runs slowly along his upper teeth, the firelight catching the sharp glint of his canines. The softness he showed you a moment ago is buried under a layer of raw, masculine intent.
relationship: Eren Yeager x Reader x Jean Kirstein
word count: 11.4k
tags: poly!erejean, modern AU, camping trip, fingering, exhibitionism, voyeurism, oral sex, sex in toilet, mean!eren, feral!eren, dubcon, homoerotic friendship, eren has eyebrow piercing, jean has tattoos, sex in public bathroom, blow job, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, one tent trope
summary: THE HANGED MAN.—Wisdom, circumspection, discernment, trials, sacrifice, intuition, divination, prophecy. Reversed: Selfishness, the crowd, body politic. On a weekend camping trip, you find out that upside-down, everything makes sense.
read on ao3
notes: srry it took me so long to get this out :(((( i wanted it 2 be perfect for you guys. eren is sooo mean in this i love it. part 2 will be out soon <333
part i: martyr
The sun filters softly through your eyelids, casting a warm, golden glow that stirs you from slumber. When your eyes flutter open, you're caught off guard; disoriented by the unfamiliarity of the moment, as if waking from a dream you can't quite recall.
The world feels tilted, caught in the heavy, aching space between what just happened behind your eyelids and the reality of the leather seat beneath you.
It still flickers at the edge of your vision—
(A strong, regal nose. The rough, sandpaper grit of stubble against your inner thigh. Stubble, a faint sepia shadow.)
Before you, the car hums along a winding road, tall evergreen trees rushing past with whispering leaves, their dark green silhouettes streaked against the bright sky. In the distance, snow-capped mountains peel away into the horizon, while rolling hills and open pastures stretch endlessly under a blood orange sunset.
Cars whistle past, ghosts of metal and chrome. A motorcycle darts through traffic, a sudden roar that makes your heart stutter. The road ahead seems to go on forever, the sun's rays spilling over the car’s sleek surface as a gentle wind whistles through the open sunroof.
(His brown mullet, sun-streaked and road-worn, brushing your collarbone as he leans down.)
You’re curled in the back of a car, socked feet resting on the leather seat, nestled in a cocoon of warmth that suddenly feels too stifling.
Next to you sits Eren, a mischievous grin plastered across his face, one hand lazily folded behind his head. His thick, dark hair is tied into a loose bun, his thick, sandstone muscles rippling as one hand gently rubs your thighs, his touch both soothing and intimate.
"Awake, babe?" Eren’s voice is deceptively gentle. "You’ve been sleeping for a while. Making all sorts of little noises."
A small, broken whimper escapes you as you rub your eyes. You feel heavy.
Drowsy.
Guilty.
(Strong, tanned hands, on your waist, through your hair, between your legs.)
He coos softly, his hands moving hotly along your thighs, his lips finding your cheek to leave a wet, warm kiss. "You're so cute," he murmurs, his voice thick with tenderness and desire.
Your voice is quiet under the roar of the road. “What time is it?”
“Nearly 5.” Jean’s voice rumbles from the front, low and steady, like a heartbeat.
Your eyes flicker instinctively to his face in the rearview mirror.
His head almost bumps the roof of the car, corded muscles tense and flexing as he drives: his tattooed arm, a patchwork of ink, twists with each turn of the wheel. In the front, he drives with a steady, serious focus, his brow slightly furrowed as he navigates the endless stretch of tarmac.
“I’m hungry.” Your body stretches instinctively, shorts riding up your thighs, the motion lazy and sensual. "And I need to pee," you add, a dull, persistent throb beneath your skin.
Your dark-haired boyfriend's response is a soft, amused chuckle. "Such a baby, huh?"
You open your mouth, about to snap back, but before your protests can escape as a whine, Eren’s lips press gently over yours in a scalding kiss. His hands tighten around you, pulling you closer into his lap. Fingers gently thread through your hair, and in that moment, all of your complaints dissolve, replaced by the warmth of his embrace. Breaking the kiss, he casts a self-satisfied smirk in Jean's direction.
“There. That shut her up.”
Jean just rolls his eyes again, focusing back on the road. “We’re stopping in 10 minutes, okay?” His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and his eyes flash at your hand up your hoodie.
Eren scoffs in response, tugging you fully into his lap, securing you comfortably. “You’re too soft on her, Jeanie.”
He stiffens, hands flexing on the steering wheel. “She needs to pee. And I need to stretch my legs.”
“Whatever you say, man,” he murmurs, before reclaiming your mouth with a fervent, crashing kiss.
His hands knead your thighs. He pulls off your hoodie, then mouths at your collarbone. Sliding his hand off your cheek, over the line of your neck and past the soft jut of your clavicle, he takes a slow pass over one breast. They’re big, but his hands are bigger still, and it easily cups around the full weight of it under your bra.
His fingers dance with deliberate slowness along the straps of your tank top as before he begins to trail hot kisses across the swell of your breasts. His warm breath ghosts across your chest, causing a shiver to ripple through you, before he pulls down the edge of your bra with practised ease and then he draws a nipple into his mouth.
“What– what are you doing?” you whisper-shout, tugging at his hair, trying to get him to pull away, but his teeth worry your nipple, and your spine arches sharply, a whimper bubbling out of your throat.
“What’s it look like?” he mumbles, obviously annoyed. His hands move to the curve of your ass, kneading and squeezing, making you dizzy.
“Jean’s right there,” you say quietly, gesturing to the front of the car. He can’t see that much from there anyway, but isn't this too much?
Eren smirks, pressing his lips against the hollow in your throat before saying, “Guess you’ll have to be quiet then.” His fingers curve down over your ass.
Get these fuckin’ legs open, he grunts.
Your cunt pulses. Moments ago, you were cold, but now a warm, delectable sweat begins to prickle across your skin; that neediness has been brewing all day.
It’s only a split second of nothing before those same digits push against the gusset of your panties, find your clit, and begin to rub in steady, firm circles. Your gasp is soft. Eren watches with predatory focus as your eyes flutter shut, rolling back in your head.
Just needed this little pussy rubbed on a bit, didn't you? You’re quickly nodding. He always knows exactly what you ache for, regardless of whether it may take you a bit longer to realise.
A soft whimper escapes your lips as you curl tighter into the warm haven of his shoulder. With a deliberate hand, he draws aside the delicate cotton of your underwear. You’re so wet from his teasing that Eren can slide his entire finger into you without resistance. You whine in pleasure as he pushes himself into the knuckle, the cool metal from his ring pressing against you.
God, you’re so worked up right now–
He smiles, watching your face as he gently pumps his finger in and out of you.
—Did you have a little wet dream about me?
A whimper of guilt is your only reply, and with a burning sense of embarrassment, you try to hold yourself back from making louder noises as he pumps and curls his finger inside of you. Your head tips back, and your lips slacken, dropping open as if to moan. But he just follows you, keeping his lips sealed over yours so he can plunge his tongue into your hot mouth. Even with just one finger, he’s already making you lightheaded—
You don't even realise the car has rolled to a halt before Jean clears his throat harshly. “Knock it off, you two. We’re at the station.”
You squeal, scrambling away from Eren. “Sorry!”
He just grunts lazily, pulling up your top, and then putting you back into your seat.
You eagerly push open the car door and jump out onto the sun-baked gravel of the forecourt. Eren follows, grunting as he cracks his neck both ways. The tendons in his neck flex, and you have to look away. Jean had already emerged from the driver’s seat, rolling his wide neck and shoulders.
“Where are we?” you ask Eren, curling into his side.
Eren's response comes in the form of a dismissive scoff, carried away by the wind that whips through his tousled hair. "Middle of bumfuck nowhere, it seems like." He squeezes your waist, leading you to follow Jean, who’s already started towards the convenience store.
Jean pauses at the entrance, his silhouette framed by the doorway's golden light, holding the door open with a kind nod: "After you."
You step into the store, and shiver a little at the chill of the freezers and the heat of Jean’s eyes on you. He's so tall and handsome, and his eyes are always so warm when they’re on you.
Eren carelessly tosses his wallet in Jean's direction as he says, "Jean-boy, go ahead and get something she likes, yeah? Pack of Winstons, too."
Jean's face clouds over with thinly veiled irritation as he snatches at the wallet. “Aren’t you gonna shop?”
“Nah. Got something to take care of.” Eren drawls, casually palming the large bulge of his groin. A wide, almost predatory grin stretches across his face, the sunlight glinting ominously on the sharp points of his canines. Heat rushes through you at his suggestive words, but his large hands steer you towards the back of the convenience store.
“You can come and watch when you’re done being a prude,” he calls over his shoulder.
"God, you're so gross." Jean's muttered complaint drifts towards you as you disappear behind the towering shelves, the sound swallowed by the cavernous aisles.
The corridor leading to the bathroom reeks of stale dampness, the path ahead illuminated only by a single, sputtering lightbulb casting long, dancing shadows. Just as you part your lips to complain, Eren's boot slams against the peeling door, forcing it inward with a resounding crash.
Inside, the men's bathroom is full of neglect and decay: grime clings to every surface, a pervasive darkness clings to the corners of the room, and a general air of wretchedness hangs in the air. A thick layer of dried mud coats the floor, the sink emits a rhythmic drip, and the metallic surfaces of the taps are tarnished with a layer of green verdigris.
A hard smack to your ass sends you stumbling towards the cubicles in the back, your face burning. You walk past the wall of mirrors lining the sinks, and with a fleeting glance, you spy the shape of Eren behind you, and you might’ve protested if it weren’t for his large hand on your nape, the chuckling in your ear.
You’re dragged, tripping and stumbling, towards a stall at the far end that is probably the cleanest, and he shuffles inside, sliding the lock in place while he laughs in your face, lips so close to yours they might as well be touching. His hand smothers your hair affectionately while you stare up at him in bewilderment.
His eyes are flashing, teeth bared like a hyena. The metal of his eyebrow piercing catches the dim overhead light, and it feels like you've been sentenced to death.
“What are you doing?” you manage to choke out.
"A private tour of the facilities, courtesy of me. You're so welcome." His other hand begins to casually knead the muscle of your ass, his touch both familiar and hot.
“I’m not allowed in here!” you hiss, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your own heart.
“So what?” Eren laughs, sounding more infatuated than amused. His nose gently pushes against yours, and you fight the terrible urge to kiss him.
“I need to pee, Eren,” you say, weakly trying to push away from him.
He nods over his shoulder, “Toilet’s right there, baby.”
“I’m not going to pee in front of you!” Your body burns in embarrassment.
“Why not?” he laughs, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. And you hate that every laugh makes your stomach dip. “Nothing I haven't seen before.”
You gape at him. “That’s totally different!”
“Not really,” he croons, and before you can protest any further, Eren swiftly closes the remaining gap and claims your lips with a hard press of his own. His hands roam your body, going straight to your shorts.
“Jean,” he grunts against your mouth, the words hot. “Fucking cockblock.”
He slides a finger up to your crotch and laughs to himself when it’s wet. He roughly shoves your pants aside and starts playing with your folds, fingers brushing up and down and swirling around your clit.
“Still so wet,” he says, sliding in a second finger and slipping them both over you, just the way you like it.
Another throaty chuckle vibrates against your skin at your shameful face. His lips, slick with saliva, leave a trail of insistent kisses upon your pouty mouth, mapping a wet path from your lips to your cheek, tracing the curve beneath your earlobe, descending to the sensitive expanse of your neck.
Don't worry, baby, you’ll get what you’re looking for. I'll give it to you.
He slides a single finger deep inside you, pumping it in a measured rhythm, coaxing forth more of your slick desire as he groans, relishing the feeling of your muscles clenching around him. Your mouth hangs open as he lazily pushes his finger in and out of you, pressing a kiss or two to the corner of your mouth. Eren hears you let out a breathless whimper, his fingers curling.
Your heart is drumming erratically in your chest, your head spinning. Your body sags slightly, each kiss pressed to your neck burning you like a naked flame. His nose prods your earlobe, and you feel just how hard he actually is beneath his sweatpants now that he’s aligning his chest with yours.
It takes real effort not to moan out loud in the cubicle as heat brews in your stomach, rolling up your spine. Your mouth drops open in a small gasp, and it doesn’t take long before you feel the familiar snap of the coil in your core, and your body starts shaking and trembling in his arms.
Your fingers flutter and encircle his wrist, hidden between your thighs comfortably, and you keep your eyes closed as you ever so slightly grind your hips backwards and forwards. Without even opening them, you know that Eren is looking at you darkly, his gaze so heavy you can feel it. His looks are sexual all on their own.
Withdrawing his fingers with tender care, he gives your clit small, consolatory rubs and soft pats for a job well done.
Your face is still buried against the curve of his neck, breath coming in heavy pants. He places a kiss on your hairline, his hand soothingly stroking your back. "You okay?"
Nodding into the expanse of his chest, forehead resting gently against his collarbone, you confirm with a soft, "Yeah."
Mmm, that's my girl—
He grunts into your hair as he clutches a fistful, the pressure insistent. You pull away to see his pupils dilated; his tongue, a sudden flash of pink, traces across his lips, slick with anticipation. You bite your lip, braving a look at the man in front of you. Eren’s cool and collected, but his face is a false mask of composure.
Because you know, you feel it, the throbbing evidence of his arousal straining against the confines of his pants, a painful-looking ridge that commands your attention. Your stomach gives a roll, and you can't help but steal a glance downwards, drawn by a morbid curiosity.
—Come on, baby. You know what to do.
Eren reaches down, shoving down the material of his sweatpants and boxers at once. Your mouth waters at the sight of his heavy, bobbing cock. His large shaft pulses with dark, prominent veins. He takes himself in hand and slowly pumps, the motion making his foreskin bunch at the top and then pull back just far enough for you to see the visibly wet head poking through. His head is engorged, an angry red, with beads of precum dripping down his shaft.
At your pause, he hums a low sound of warning, and you timidly shuffle closer so you can kneel on the gritty tile. A wave of nausea crests in your stomach in response to the griminess of the public restroom, but a sense of heated desire settles over you.
Taking a deliberate, anchoring breath, you place your hands on Eren’s muscle-heavy thighs and lean forward. He flinches when your hand comes into contact with his cock, the warmth of your fingers unexpected as you run one finger over the tip. His unoccupied hand comes up to meet you halfway, cradling the curve of your skull and guiding you to the waiting tip of his penis.
You press a tender kiss to the glistening head, then slowly work your way down the underside of it until your lips meet his curled knuckles, where he’s still gripping himself. You kiss those too, sweetly, before rising back on your knees even as they ache in protest against the unforgiving floor.
Opening your mouth wide, you flick your tongue out to lap across the slit of his cock, tasting a dollop of bitter precum, and Eren issues a slow, sighing breath through his nose. There’s no time wasted on stalling, and Eren can’t help but let out a quiet moan when you take more than half of his dick into your mouth at once.
Languidly, you swivel your gaze upward to lock on his face, a subtle unease rippling through you as you meet his heavily lidded gaze. The little lightbulb is behind his head, sharpening his face with shadows, and you can only see his eyes due to the glint of them flashing in the dark. You whimper at the look on his face.
The sound catches his attention, and he softly coos at you.
What’s the matter, baby? You getting impatient?
You pitifully nod your head, struggling to swallow around him. The undulation of your throat elicits a groan from him, and Eren's hands tighten slightly around your head, his legs widening. Then, he grunts something inaudible and pulls your face closer to him.
The thick ridge of his cock scrapes against the back of your throat, triggering an involuntary spasm. Each time he pulls out and thrusts his dick back in, you retch, the reflex hitting, which only makes him moan harder.
Each withdrawal is a brief reprieve, only to be followed by a more forceful and insistent re-entry, plunging you once more into a gagging fit.
Shit, baby, he groans, voice a little strained but rough with lust.
You glance up around tears; his head is tipped back, and a glint of saliva on his lip tells you he’s wide-mouthed, overcome with pleasure.
His eyes flicker down and find yours, the light hitting him just right, and you whine around him, a hand cautiously coming to the base of his dick to save you from another round of gagging.
Gotta say, he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, as he thrusts his hips back into your mouth. Love looking at you like this.
You hum, and his pupils dilate as he regards you with open admiration.
Oh, you’re precious.
A slow grin spreads across his face, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as a wave of satisfaction washes over him. He gently slaps his hand across your cheek; it barely hurts, but you put on a show to moan around him and wrinkle your nose, which he likes. He groans loudly, running his thumb across every feature he can reach without removing himself from the wet cavern of your mouth.
You begin a deliberate rhythm with your fist, twisting just the way he likes. For a moment, he simply melts, basking in the warm embrace of your mouth. But then, your tongue dances along the vein pulsing beneath the head of his cock, and he stirs, as if roused from a stupor.
You're forgetting something, aren't you, baby?
His voice is a low rumble above you.
Your opposite hand begins its descent to caress Eren’s hanging sac, but a low sound of warning stops you short. You understand what he wants all too well, and with a soft, slick pop, you pull away, panting quietly.
You swallow your nerves and tip his cock back towards his stomach, drawing his balls higher, and then lean down. Bending low, your tongue darts out, tracing the silken contours of his scrotum. Lower still, you enfold his left ball within the warmth of your mouth.
Eren gutturally groans at it, his thighs clamping down around your head. In response, you lavish attention on his pulsing testicle, your hand lazily stroking his length, and you delight in the way the motion pulls on his sack. The groans that tear out of him only further embolden you, and you let his left ball pop out of your mouth with a wet smack so you can switch to the other.
Eventually, you release his sack and trace a glistening path along the seam to the underside of his shaft. You work your way higher still until you guide him back into your mouth, nuzzling your nose against his pubic bone. The muscles in his thighs visibly twitch, clenching and releasing as you put your all into bobbing up and down his length again.
That sticky schlucking noise fills the air once more, something you ignore, keeping at it until copious amounts of drool are running down his cock and your hand, leaving a bubbling mess across your hand.
You can feel him nearing his climax, a silent language spoken in the anxious nibble of his lower lip, eyebrows pinched tightly, his pelvis tilting towards your waiting mouth. It has you eager to please, working your mouth over his cock so enthusiastically that it almost makes you dizzy.
Your reward finally comes as his large hands, gentle despite his lust, find purchase on your head, and you let him shove you down on him with a delighted little squeal.
The blunt head of his cock presses insistently against the back of your throat, and then keeps going, wedging itself into your throat just enough to make you choke. Swallowing him completely, down to the very base, your eyes roll back in your head as a torrent of thick, scalding cum rushes down your throat in pulsating waves.
Fuck— he groans, holding your head in place.
A cough rattles through you as you struggle to swallow, working your throat around the intrusion, and that makes him hiss at the contraction.
His body shakes violently with the force of his climax, and only when he's emptied his load into your throat does he finally let you resurface for air.
You reel back, gasping, your head swimming in a disorienting haze. Eren leans down with a gentle murmur, framing your feverish face within his calloused palms.
He tilts your head back, offering a kiss, a soft, guttural moan escaping his lips as he savours the taste of his own essence upon your tongue. You instinctively melt into the gesture.
Then he’s tugging at your hands to hoist you to your feet. Slightly off balance, you wobble in his arms as he presses another wet kiss to your mouth.
He’s panting, his forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping off his nose. You’ve sucked the soul out of him, yet, as you shift against him, you feel him start to stir.
"Fuck, sweetheart. You're so good, baby, so good," he murmurs, his voice gravelly. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I've trained you so well, haven't I?”
You whimper softly under the weight of his approval, thighs pressed tightly together in anticipation.
You let him paw at you for a while longer before you pull back to look at him properly, “We should go, Jean’s waiting for us.”
He shakes his head, already pumping himself, his length already rehardening. “Nah. Want to fuck you first.”
“But–” you attempt, yet your protest is swiftly cut off.
“No buts. He can wait,” Eren grumbles. “He’s got nothing better to do anyway,” he adds, his tone layered with dismissive indifference.
A quiet whimper bubbles up in the back of your throat when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, falling into a crouch as he tugs them to your ankles in a single fluid motion.
“Step out.”
You comply, slowly, and he tucks them away in the pocket of his sweats before rising to his full, towering height again.
Your stomach rolls, a quiet bubble of excitement rising within you, causing your fingers to nervously grasp the soft fabric of his shirt.
In response, a soft, breathless chuckle escapes his lips.
Excited to get fucked in a bathroom, huh?
Shame heats your body, but he scoops you into his arms, your legs around his waist. Against your instincts, you snake your arms around his neck, your arms encircle his neck, your fingertips lightly tracing the short, sun-kissed hairs at his nape.
Eren reaches between his legs for his erect dick and slides it until he finds the wet folds of your pussy. You moan into his mouth happily, the tip of his dick sliding between you, lapping up all your juice like a tongue.
Eren, hurry, you plead, your words tumbling out between messy, desperate kisses.
Hurry? he teases, a low rumble in his voice. You’re getting nervous after you just deepthroated my cock?
With his other hand, he guides his cock to your entrance, taking the time to collect your wetness on his tip, rubbing himself all over you as you squirm beneath him. He slaps your clit a few times gently with his cock and smirks at you when you whine.
You want it?
Eren, please–
He plunges into you mid-sentence, and you stutter and gasp at the feeling. He hisses as his sensitive cock fills you up completely, your walls clenching hard around him to try to accommodate his girth, but Eren doesn’t give you any time before he starts thrusting his hips in and out of you.
Your legs cling tighter, an almost desperate grip around his waist, your jaw slackens, your consciousness fading as you lose yourself in the moment. You almost forget where you are again, moaning so loud that Eren has to come forward and kiss you just to keep you quiet.
He laughs into your mouth, wildly entertained by the fit of your bodies, his body relaxing now that his dick is back somewhere wet and warm. The gritty surface of the toilet stall door presses against your back, and you find with slight shyness that you don’t quite know what to do.
Keeping your eyes on his and arms wrapped around his neck, you struggle to drag yourself up and down off his dick, though he seems very content with doing all the work himself, and you quickly let him.
You chant his name like a prayer as he pumps his cock into you, dragging against your walls and hitting you in just the right spot that has you curling your toes and throwing your head back.
The flimsy stall door trembles behind you, its plastic shell rattling with each forceful impact as Eren hoists you higher, his mouth clamping down on yours, a desperate attempt to muffle the escalating chorus of your pleasure.
Eren pistons his hips back up into you, going so deep that a loud whine leaves your mouth straight into his. He remains as cocky as he has been all day, the corners of his mouth curved upwards as he watches your face with a narrowed gaze.
You need this, huh? Needed this fuckin’ cock.
He snaps his hips fully into you before pressing even harder into you, forcing himself almost too deep inside of you.
Unsatisfied with your lack of response, he pulls himself out until just the swollen head of his cock is inside you before plunging his hips forward. The force sends your whole body slamming into the door as you cry out.
I asked you a question, he says, grunting from the depths of his chest.
Yes, Eren, you manage to utter, your voice laced with a desperate plea.
Please, Eren, fuck me harder.
He lets out a growl before pressing his lips hard against yours.
I want you to cum all over my fucking cock, get my fucking dick wet. Can you do that for me?
You sob, lifting your head off the door as he moves away, chasing his lips.
Please, Eren, I want to.
The innermost muscles of your core clench around him, and he groans, tongue flicking up past yours as he rearranges you on his cock. The swell of your chest presses against the solid wall of his own. He desperately wants to rip off your top and shove your tits in his face, to leave little bites across your skin like a brand.
Your hand finds purchase on the cool metal of the stall door's crest, drawing him deeper into your core as a consequence. Not like there’s anyone to see you, anyway; you haven't heard anyone else enter.
Your legs tighten around Eren as he buries himself into you, winding the knot in your stomach tighter until it feels as hard as his dick is up your throat again.
His rhythm is merciless as he fucks you hard into the door, your hips springing back up into him from the force of his thrusts. You can feel another tight coil building in your core as he pounds into you, leaving you gasping and breathless— Eren, please, I’m close, don’t stop.
He groans in approval of your desperation. He lets go of one of your thighs to press against the door behind you, adding more leverage and force with every thrust.
Yeah, baby, cum for me, he grunts.
Your spine crackles with electric pleasure, arching further into his touch in a silent plea. Your legs tremble uncontrollably and tighten spasmodically around the hard column of his waist. You welcome the wetness of your orgasm, as pleasure explodes from the very core of your being. It slides across your thighs, the physical manifestation of the ecstasy that has taken hold of you.
Eren pulls himself out of you, then clamps a heavy hand over your mouth, stifling the surprised whimper that tries to escape your lips. Then, in one fluid motion, he spins you around to face the toilet.
The lid is closed, a small mercy in this situation, and you cock a leg up onto its smooth surface instinctively, your fingers clawing desperately at the small shelf above the tank.
With deliberate force, he presses into your shoulders, his hand a solid weight as his other hand delicately guides your hips, moulding your form into a perfect, welcoming arch. His own hips tilt back until the very tip of his heavy cock teases your entrance. Eren collects your wetness on his head and uses his hand to spread it across his already-slick length.
Both of his hands hold you in place while, with a guttural groan, he plunges deep within you again, his gaze locked on your face, catching the moment of your stifled breath as his throbbing cock disappears inside you, so abrupt and intense that it forces your head to snap back, your eyes wide with a mixture of shock and pleasure.
He grunts as he pushes into you and your body stretches around him, all thoughts leaving his head in a flurry. He nudges himself deeper and deeper against your tight walls, eyes fixed on where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear inside of you.
Oh, fuck, you’re so tight.
He can’t take his eyes off your slick pussy as you swallow his full length, inch by inch, your ass colliding against him. The room is filled with the dull thud of skin on skin. His smile splits apart, silent laughter falling from his mouth as he stills in place.
Shit, look at that, he groans quietly, making shallow, quick thrusts into your body.
God, you don’t even flinch when he stuffs you like this.
I’m in your fuckin’ guts, baby.
His breath grows ragged as he thrusts into you harder and faster.
Fuck, you feel so good, he groans, a little louder than he means to.
You bite down fiercely on your inner cheek, desperately stifling any sound that might betray your state of abandon while Eren relentlessly fucks himself into you. A flame of arousal burns inside of you as the voices grow louder, closer. Eren clenches his teeth and smiles.
So fucking good, he repeats, his hips now a relentless force, each thrust sending ripples through your body, watching your ass jiggle in time with his rhythm.
You close your eyes, struggling to contain the cries as Eren’s hips snap against you. He isn’t holding back anymore, thrusting himself completely in and out of your body like an animal in heat. His hand finds the hem of your top, bunching the fabric around your waist, using it as a tether to pull you back against his thrusting hips.
Shit, you’re getting my dick so wet, baby, he grunts, watching you coat the base of his cock in your foamy white slick.
The bathroom fills with the loud sound of skin slapping against skin, Eren’s soft moans, and lewd wet noises as his cock thrusts into your pussy. The porcelain toilet groans beneath your combined weight, the tank clattering against the tiled wall with each earth-shattering thrust, punctuated by your muffled moans of pleasure.
His eyes are still fixed on his own cock as he pants above you, small beads of sweat rolling between his pecs and disappearing under his shirt. With his free hand, he grabs the bottom hem of his shirt to bring it up to his mouth, biting it to hold it out of the way so he can fully appreciate the sight in front of him.
He groans through clenched teeth, grabbing you hard as you cry out beneath him. It doesn’t take long for Eren to lose himself in the feeling of his cock inside of you. You’re squeezing him so good and keep saying his name just the way he likes. Gasping and whining and writhing beneath him, even when you're trying to be quiet.
His moans grow louder and louder as you tighten around his length, and he groans as your cunt pulses around him, squeezing around his cock as you cum. You shudder beneath him, vision blurring, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you and Eren has to grip your hips with both hands to keep you from squirming as he fucks you.
Stop running away, he grunts, his voice roughened with exertion, as he reaches forward, his fingers tangling in a thick fistful of your hair.
Releasing the damp fabric of his shirt from his mouth, he instead sinks his teeth into the delicate skin of your shoulder, leaving a trail of stinging bites and blossoming hickeys in his wake as he continues to grind against your hips. Your body squeezes hard around him in response, hands reaching back to grip any part of him you can, digging your nails into his skin.
Your eyes return to the peeling paint of the walls, trying so eagerly to keep the knot retightening in your tummy.
Eren shifts one hand upwards to his abdomen, his knuckles pressing against your ass in a calculated manoeuvre to muffle the sound of slapping skin, preventing it from rippling outwards into the confines of the narrow restroom.
Eren tenses, his muscles coiling when you clench even harder around him, a desperate act to preserve the delicate equilibrium of your mind and body. Your leg shifts, allowing him to penetrate you just a fraction deeper, the tip of him surging past the boundary of pleasurable pain.
Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, your face contorted in a mask of pleasure as Eren's pace quickens. His dick spears into you with the precision of a machine, his thrusts so perfectly calibrated that you marvel at your ability to remain relatively silent.
You knock your head back, braving a look over your shoulder at Eren, keeping your cool when you find his eyes are already looking at you, glazed over. A glistening bead of sweat traces the hollow of his neck, and you crane your head further to witness your ass bouncing in rhythm against the palm of his hand. His other hand creeps around from your waist between your legs, where his thumb and finger flick and twist at your clit.
You twitch violently, your body convulsing in response to the mounting pressure, and you can feel the heat rising from the soles of your feet, a burning river racing up your legs. You meet Eren's gaze pleadingly, and an unspoken message is conveyed from your eyes into his.
His brows raise as he pounds into you silently, playing dumb. Yet, when a whimper escapes your lips, a fraction louder than anticipated, the mask of amusement flickers across his features.
Of course, he knows you’re close. If your shaking legs weren’t enough indication, then the way your cunt is clutching him like a vice has given you away. Luckily for you, he’s not absurdly far behind. Eren squeezes your ass with his hand, and he speeds up relentlessly.
Your hands slide from the edge of the shelf up to the wall, and with nothing to grab, you slump ungracefully and do your best to keep upright. His cock burrows in deeper, tip prodding against a spot that makes you carelessly moan out loud, but that doesn’t matter anymore.
The resounding slaps of your ass against his pelvis echo through the confined space as your bodies collide; his grunts, previously restrained, now resonate with unrestrained passion as he nears his orgasm, surrendering entirely to the sensation of your pussy enveloping his cock.
Meanwhile, you feel a bubbling sort of pain in your lower stomach, the knot unwinding slightly until your legs shake uncontrollably. A blinding rush of white-hot ecstasy consumes you as you succumb to the overwhelming pleasure.
Eren’s strong arms encircle you, preventing your fall as he feels your pussy pulsate with fervent contractions, heat building around his cock as you cry out in sweet abandon and cum around his cock. A hand flies to your own mouth to stifle any further noise, clamping your mouth shut.
He shudders against you, burying his face into your neck as he feels his gut tightening.
Fuck, I’m gonna cum, he pants, gripping your body hard as he thrusts his hips against you.
Eren spears in and out, slamming back into with a final, shuddering drag. He bows his head, groaning loudly as he releases the entirety of his seed, filling you with a hot surge of cum. He remains buried within you for a lingering moment, lost to the aftershocks of your mutual peak, eyes squeezed shut as tremors of satisfaction course through him.
For Eren, it’s too much—
the constricting pulse of your cunt, the intense heat
—so he jerks his hips backwards, removing his cock from inside of you and then thrusting forward against the curve of your ass. His head lolls back, eyes squeezed shut, his cock pulsating against your ass as he shoots rope after rope of cum onto your back.
A guttural moan escapes his lips, his muscles spasming from the sheer force of his climax and the rhythmic undulation of your hips against his.
Tremors wrack his body as he clutches you tightly, reeling in the aftermath as your warmth envelops him. You flinch as his dick jolts against you, and tossing your head over your shoulder tiredly, you wait patiently until he pulls his eyes open and finds your gaze eagerly looking at him.
He grabs your face roughly, tilting your head to the side to meet you in a messy kiss, tongues and teeth bumping into each other in a heated frenzy. He only pulls away when your lungs are burning.
“Fuck, baby. Fuck.” he’s breathless, peppering your face with kisses. “You’re so hot, Jesus.”
"Oh my god, Eren–" you begin, but he cuts you off with a gentle shush.
"I know, baby, I know," he reassures, his voice softening. "I'll clean you up. Just take a minute, alright?"
Your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive, like lead, so you lean heavily against the cool porcelain of the toilet, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you breathe. A comforting hand glides down your spine, soothing and grounding.
You vaguely register the sensation of him tenderly wiping away the evidence of his release from your lower back and between your thighs, a silent act of care. He attends to himself with the same thoroughness, discreetly tucking himself away again. With gentle hands, he slides your pants and shorts back into place, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head before enveloping you in a supportive embrace.
"I'm gonna step out to let you pee, alright?" he murmurs against your hair. "You gonna be okay?"
You manage a nod, a simple gesture of understanding, and he retreats just beyond the confines of the cubicle, granting you a semblance of privacy. You attend to your needs, still lost in the lingering euphoria of the afterglow, your mind in a haze.
He guides you back across the cracked asphalt of the gas station forecourt, the harsh fluorescent lights glinting off the car's hood, where Jean is a seated silhouette within, an impatient figure awaiting your return.
"What the hell took you two so long?" His arms are a rigid barricade across his chest, eyes sharp as tacks flitting between the almost imperceptible tremor in your thighs and the vivid flush painting Eren's cheeks.
Eren flashes a wolfish grin. "Told you you could join us."
A scoff escapes Jean’s lips, his arms remaining stubbornly crossed. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the subtle flex and ripple of his muscles is evident, momentarily drawing your gaze, causing you to swallow thickly.
"Couldn't you keep it in your pants for another few hours?"
"Nah," Eren exhales, a low rumble against your skin. "Not when my girl is so needy." He dips his head, nuzzling possessively at the curve of your neck, his words a warm smear against your nape.
Jean’s eyes meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable flashing within their depths before he turns away, muttering: "Whatever. At least you've burned all that energy off before we get moving again."
Eren throws his head back and scoffs, a sardonic edge to his tone. "Yeah, thanks, Dad."
He pulls open the back door with exaggerated flourish, gesturing for you to slip into the back seat, before beginning to rifle through the crinkling plastic bag filled with snacks Jean bought, his movements suddenly, pointedly casual.
“Got about two more hours to go, now,” Jean announced, the metallic clack of his seatbelt buckle punctuating the statement like a period. “Should make it before sundown.”
The radio hums in the background as Jean turns it up. The bass thrummed through the soles of your feet, vibrating against your ribcage as the lyrics bled into the air.
As the wheels squeal, Jean throws gravel as he exits the parking lot, launching the vehicle down the asphalt ribbon.
Eren leaned back, looking more alive than you’d seen him in weeks, plucking a Winston from a new, small carton.
“Two hours to paradise,” Eren chirped, reaching over the centre console to grab a lighter. He looked at you, his eyes wide and bright. “You okay, babe? Relax. We’re finally out of that shithole town.”
“I’m fine,” you whispered, drowsy, though your fingers were clenched in your hoodie. You leaned toward Eren, seeking the familiar heat of him. “Just… It’s a long way from home.”
Eren laughed, a sharp, jagged sound of pure excitement. “That’s the point, babe. No jobs, no rules. Just the wild.” He looked at Jean’s profile. “Right, Jean? Tell her how great this is gonna be.”
Jean didn't look over. His hands were gripped at ten and two, his knuckles straining. “It’s a long drive,” he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones.
Eren rolled his eyes, sticking a cigarette between his teeth. “Always so tight, Jean. Live a little.” A brief flare of flame illuminates his features as he lights the end, the acrid scent unfurling as he cracks the window, tendrils of smoke snaking from his exhale.
“Pass me a smoke, Yeager,” Jean requested, his tone a forced, flat line.
Eren lit a second one, and instead of handing it over, he held it out for you first. “Want a drag, sweetheart? Calm those nerves.”
“She doesn’t want your shit, Eren,” Jean snapped, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to catch your gaze for a split second. “She needs to breathe, not choke.”
“I’m fine, Eren,” you murmured, gently pushing his hand away. You felt Jean’s posture relax, just a fraction, at your refusal.
With practised ease, Eren placed the lit cigarette between Jean’s waiting fingers. Jean took a massive, punishing drag, the ember glowing in the dimming light. He shifted in his seat, the worn denim of his jeans straining over his thighs as he adjusted, the movement purposeful and heavy.
"Everything alright back there?" Jean questioned, his voice dropping an octave as he exhaled a plume of smoke.
“She’s great, Jean. Stop hovering,” Eren joked, pulling you closer into his side, his arm heavy and protective over your shoulders. “She’s got me to take care of her.”
He exhales a plume of smoke that drifts directly towards your face. You wrinkle your nose in playful distaste, a giggle escaping your lips. Eren lets out a low huff of amusement, leaning over to press a brief, dry kiss to your cheek before the cigarette returned to his lips for a long, slow drag.
Jean’s eyes softened for a heartbeat, a look that wasn't meant for a friend’s girlfriend, before he masked it with a scowl.
His grip on the wheel tightened until the leather groaned. He took another long, slow drag, his jaw set so hard it looked like it might shatter.
“Yeah,” Jean murmured, the smoke curling around his lips as he watched the road. “I’m sure she’s in real good hands.”
Eren’s arm then encircles your side, drawing you closer into his embrace. The setting sun sculpts the sharp angles of his jaw, an orange light bathing his face, accentuating the glint of metal in his eyebrow piercing. His green eyes glimmer with reflected sunlight, his sandstone skin seemingly drinking in the last rays of the day.
You snuggle deeper under the crook of his arm, finding comfort in his warmth, and he responds with a kiss pressed to your forehead.
He tightened his grip on your shoulder, his thumb grazing your skin as he looked back at the road.
“Two hours,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, private whisper.
Then I’ve got you all to myself.
The truck climbed the final, jagged incline through winding woods and silver-ribbon rivers until the forest swallowed the road entirely. You arrived at the campsite as the sun began its slow, bleeding descent, mottling the forest floor in purples and gold.
The clearing was dominated by towering, headless evergreens; ancient giants with thick, scarred trunks. In the centre, a small clearing held a cold, unused firepit, circled by weathered chairs.
Overhead, clear and brown beer bottles dangled from low-hanging branches like strange, glass fruit, tinkling with a hollow, ghostly chime every time the wind sighed through the foliage—
Clink. Clink.
Beyond the trees, the lake sat perfectly still, its deep blue waters like a sheet of smooth, cold glass.
Jean killed the engine. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the ticking of the cooling metal. He jumped out of the driver's seat, his boots crunching loudly on the dry needles, and stood with his hands on his hips, his chest heaving as he took in the isolation.
Eren was a blur of motion, tugging you out of the passenger seat before you could even unbuckle. He pulled you against his chest, his energy thrumming through his skin like a live wire.
“So this is it, huh?” he breathed, his hands already wandering, hot, restless.
He looked around the dense treeline with a wild, hungry sort of satisfaction.
“It’s really… secluded, isn’t it?” you murmured. The scale of the woods made you feel tiny, and you instinctively pressed closer into Eren’s heat.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared, baby,” Eren teased. His eyes glinted with that familiar, frantic light; the look he got when he felt truly free.
“I’m not,” you mumbled, though you didn't pull away.
He didn't give you a choice to argue further, catching your jaw and pulling you into a firm, bruising kiss that tasted of the nicotine he’d been smoking for the last two hours.
The sound of a heavy cooler slamming onto the dirt broke the moment.
“Can you actually help me, Yeager?” Jean’s voice was a jagged blade, cutting through the intimacy.
He was at the back of the car, lugging crates out of the trunk, his shoulders bunched with a tension that had nothing to do with the heavy lifting.
His eyes flicked to you, then back to Eren, dark and unreadable. “We’ve got an hour of light left, and I’m not pitching tents in the dark.”
Eren laughed, finally breaking the kiss but keeping his arm hooked tightly around your waist. He glanced up at the horizon, then looked back at Jean. “Sure, sure, whatever. Keep your pants on, Kirstein.”
He gave you one last squeeze before stepping toward the truck, tossing a wink back at you over his shoulder. “Get a fire going, Jeanie. Don’t want my girl getting cold while I’m busy.”
Jean didn't reply. He just grabbed a bundle of firewood, his knuckles white, and started heading toward the pit without looking at either of you.
Clink. Clink.
The firelight flickers, casting long, jerky shadows across the clearing as Jean stands over the pile of gear, his hands on his hips and his face twisted in disbelief.
"You’re kidding me," Jean’s voice is harsh, cutting through the quiet hum of the crickets like a blade.
You look up from where you’re kneeling by the supplies, the tension in Jean’s shoulders making your stomach do a flip. You glance over at Eren, who is leaning casually against the trunk of the SUV, arms crossed over his chest.
Eren is grinning. Not a friendly smile, but that sharp, knowing look that says he’s three steps ahead of everyone else. "What's the matter, Jean?"
"You only brought one tent? Dude, you said you would bring two– you specifically said you had a backup in the garage," Jean snaps, gesturing wildly at the single, large nylon structure already staked into the dirt.
Eren shrugs. He doesn't look bothered at all. "Must’ve been a slip in communication. This one’s the only one I could find when I was packing."
He pushes off the car and walks toward the two of you, his boots crunching heavily on the dry needles. He stops right next to you, his presence warm. He looks down at the tent, then back at Jean, his eyes glinting with a challenge.
"It’s an eight-person model, Jean. Big enough for all three of us, too." Eren tilts his head, his voice dropping into a mocking, smooth tone. "Unless you’re afraid of a little close contact?"
Jean’s face flushes a deep, angry red. He looks at you, then back at the tent, his jaw working as he tries to maintain his composure while clearly wanting to deck Eren.
There’s no cell service to call a cab, no second car, and the temperature is already dropping into the forties.
"Fine," Jean spits out, his voice tight. "Fine. But I’m sleeping by the door."
Eren’s grin only widens. He reaches down, his hand heavy and warm as it settles on your shoulder, pulling you back against his side. "Suit yourself, Jean. I think we’ll be just fine in the middle."
He leans down, whispering just loud enough for you to hear. "It’s going to be a long night, sweetheart. Better get used to the squeeze."
The clearing felt suspended in time, hours later, caught in that languid, sunset hour. You sat on the edge of a weathered chair, the damp chill of the forest floor seeping through your clothes. You plucked a dandelion from the dirt, its white head full and fragile.
What should you wish for?
The question drifted through your mind, slow and aimless. Overhead, the beer bottles chimed against one another like a heartbeat.
Your eyes drifted, drawn by the weight of a different sound.
Near the truck, Jean was rummaging through a bag. The orange sunlight clung to the sweat on his neck, highlighting the way his thick arms rippled as he reached deep into the shadows, the bag and pulled out a long, heavy case. From it, he drew his father’s vintage shotgun, the walnut stock glowing.
Click.
With a sharp, practised snap of his wrist, he pulled it open. He tilted the barrel, peering into the dark chambers with a focused eye.
Clink.
He dropped two shells into the breech, a heavy, metallic sound that felt far too loud in the silence.
Sch-shck.
He snapped the gun shut and racked it, the sound of steel sliding against steel echoing off the lake.
The violence of the noise was a sharp contrast to the way he handled the weapon, with an almost intimate reverence.
He looked up then, his amber eyes catching yours across the clearing.
You felt a pull in your lower stomach, a dizzying swirl of nerves and something much darker. You took a deep breath, the cold forest air filling your lungs, and brought the dandelion to your lips.
You closed your eyes, thinking of the way Jean’s hands had looked on that steel, and blew. The white seeds scattered, dancing like tiny ghosts into the shadows, gone before they even hit the ground.
Eren’s shadow falls over you then.
You look up, a little surprised to see Eren towering over you, dark eyes focused on your face, that little quirk to his lip he gets when he wants something.
He's not watching the seeds fall.
He’s watching the way you watch Jean.
The dandelion seeds were still drifting, ghosts in the stagnant air, when the first heavy drop hit the back of your neck.
Then another, fatter one, landing on the dusty hood of the truck.
The sky hadn't just darkened; it had bruised, turning a violent, swollen purple in a matter of seconds. The wind arrived with a low, mournful howl, whipping the pine needles and snatching the heat right off of your skin.
"Yeager," Jean barked, his voice sharp with urgency. He dropped the vintage shotgun onto the backseat, his movements frantic as he grabbed a tarp. "It’s storming. We need to move, now!"
Everything became a blur of motion and grey light.
The sound of the tent zipper ripped through the campsite. The frantic thud-thud-thud of Jean’s boots as he threw the dry bags inside. Then, the sky simply opened.
It wasn't rain, it was a wall of water. Cold, stinging, and sharp. Within three seconds, your top was a second skin, transparent and heavy. The dust of the mountain road turned to slick, red mud beneath your shoes.
"Get in! Baby, get in the tent!" Eren’s voice was a low roar over the sudden thunder.
He grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into your bicep as he hauled you toward the small nylon opening. You tumbled inside, rain being driven into your face, hands hitting the cold mat. You were followed immediately by the heavy, soaking weight of Jean, and then Eren, who yanked the zipper shut behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening, save for the frantic drum-drum-drum of the rain hammering the thin fabric inches above your heads.
It was dark. Wet. The smell was overwhelming: wet earth, ozone, and the sharp, muskier scent of two drenched, adrenaline-spiked men.
"God damn it," Jean panted. ”I didn't check the weather.”
He was hunched in the corner, his large frame forced into a cramped curve. His flannel was plastered to his back, dipping and rolling with his deltoids. He was shaking the water from his hair like a dog, droplets spraying onto your face.
You were on your knees in the centre, shivering. Your tank top was plastered to your skin, the lace of your bra visible beneath the thin fabric. You felt Eren’s gaze before you saw it.
He was sitting back on his heels, totally unbothered by the cold. His shirt was dripping, skintight. You could see the ring of his nipples through his shirt, and every ab and muscle. He watched the way you breathed, the way your chest heaved, the way the water dripped from your chin.
"You're freezing," he murmured. His voice was too calm for the chaos outside. He reaches out from behind you, his hand warm, impossibly warm, as he grips the hem of your soaking top. "Take it off. You'll get sick if you sit in wet clothes."
Jean stiffened in the corner. You could see his hazel eyes flash in the dim amber light of the emergency lantern.
"Eren," Jean warned, his voice a low, jagged rasp. "There isn't exactly... privacy in here."
Eren’s dark eyes remained locked on his over your shoulder, his thumb grazing the damp skin of your waist as he began to lift the fabric.
"We're roommates, Jean," Eren said, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face. "There shouldn't be any secrets between us. Right?"
Eren’s hands moved higher, the rough callouses of his palms dragging against your ribs.
He was the mastermind; he had seen the clouds on the horizon an hour ago.
He had known the storm was coming.
And now, he had exactly what he wanted.
The air inside the tent is a thick, humid soup of adrenaline and damp skin. Outside, the rain is a frantic shuttle-shuttle against the nylon, but inside, the world has shrunk to the three feet of space between you.
Eren peels off his soaking clothes, revealing his gladiator-set body, thick, and corded form years of sports and heavy weights. His body glows in the orange, dusky light of the emergency lamp, his thighs rippling.
Even his boxers are damp, plastered to his crotch, and the swell of his cock. You swallow, mouth parting on instinct.
Eren chuckles at your expression, before sliding down behind you and wrapping an arm around your neck to pull him against your chest.
You squirm, feeling the tension suffocate you in the small enclosure. “But–”
“C’mon, baby. It’s just Jean. What are you so nervous about, huh?” Eren hums. His voice is a hot, wet brand against your nape as he peels the clinging fabric of your top over your head. It leaves you exposed in your lace bra; the white fabric turned translucent, clinging to your curves like a second, more honest skin.
Even soaking wet, his hands are so hot, hot, hot.
Mmm, that’s better, isn't it?
He doesn't wait for your heartbeat to slow. His hands slide down your body, the friction of his palms dragging over your damp ribs, down to the waistline of your shorts. Your legs snap shut instinctively, a desperate, futile attempt at modesty, but he pulls them apart anyway, his strength effortless and absolute.
“Hips, baby.”
Eren’s voice is low, rough, commanding.
In front of you, Jean is a statue. He’s dripping, his own shirt plastered to the heavy muscles of his chest, his breath coming in jagged, audible heaves. He looks like a lumberjack caught in a fever dream.
Eren slides your shorts down, the wet fabric hissing against your skin until you kick them off your feet. He doesn't stop there. He begins to massage your thighs, his thumbs kneading the soft flesh.
You try to snap them shut again, a small, broken whimper escaping your throat as you see the way Jean’s eyes dart helplessly, shamelessly, to the damp gusset of your panties.
Eren feels the shiver run through you and thrives on it. He looks over your shoulder, his eyes glinting with a dark, orchestrator’s pride.
“Come on, Jeanie. Your turn.”
Jean’s eyes snap up to Eren’s. Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at–
Eren’s grin is wicked, visible even in the dim amber shadows.
I’m not playing at anything, man. Just don’t want you to get sick.
He pauses, his fingers lingering on the inside of your knee. His eyes dart to Jean’s crotch. Unless there’s something you’re hiding?
Jean expels a harsh, disbelieving huff. The sound escapes his lips like a burst of hot air, his face flushing a deep, angry red that spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
What? Jean snarls, his voice cracking with the strain of his own restraint. Do you want me to get hard or something?
The silence that follows is a physical weight. The rain hammers on.
Eren doesn't flinch. He just pulls you back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder so he can watch Jean with an eerie, calm intensity.
I want you to be honest, Jean, Eren murmurs, his hand moving from your thigh to settle over your stomach. We're going to be in this tent a long time. Might as well get all the tension out in the open.
Jean looks at you, really looks at you, sitting there half-dressed and keening under Eren’s touch. His gaze is heavy, desperate, and finally, for the first time, honest.
You're a sick bastard, Yeager, Jean grunts.
He tilted his head, his gaze dropping shamelessly to the front of Jean’s boxers.
Yeah? Or are you just scared I’m bigger than you?
The insult hit Jean like a physical blow.
You’re not, asshole, Jean snapped, his voice a low, dangerous growl. We measured back in college, remember? I've got you beat, and you know it.
The air in the tent is so tight it feels like the oxygen is running out, replaced by the scent of earth and Jean’s mounting, humiliated fury.
Jean’s fingers tremble as they hook into the hem of his shirt. He doesn't look at Eren. He looks at you: at the way your skin is goosefleshed, at the way Eren’s thick, long fingers look against the plane of your stomach.
The sound of wet cotton peeling away from skin is loud in the small space. Jean hauls the shirt over his head, his muscles bunching and rolling under the strain.
He’s dripping. A single bead of rainwater tracks a slow path down the centre of his chest, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, beading into his happy trail.
Satisfied?
Jean bites out, his voice a low, vibrating growl.
Not yet, Eren murmurs, his chin still hooked over your shoulder. He’s enjoying the view of Jean’s exposure just as much as he’s enjoying Jean seeing yours. The pants, Jean-boy. Unless you want to spend the night shivering.
Jean’s jaw locks so tight you can hear the bone creak. He reaches for his belt.
The metal buckle hits the floor of the tent. Zip.
He shucks the heavy, sodden denim onto the floor. He’s forced to shift his weight, his knee brushing against yours in the cramped space. He kicks the jeans into the corner, standing there in nothing but his dark boxers, his skin flushed and radiating a heat that rivals Eren’s.
There, Jean snaps, his voice thick with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable. Are we done with the show, or are you going to ask for a fucking lap dance next?
Eren doesn’t answer immediately. He lets the silence stretch, the only sound the frantic drum of the rain against the canvas. He looks Jean up and down: a slow, clinical appraisal of the man’s trembling restraint before his gaze slides back to you.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Jean,” Eren says, his voice coming out as a smooth, velvet purr. “I just want everyone to be comfortable.”
"Guys, please," you whisper, your voice small and shaky. "Just... stop it. Both of you."
Eren’s eyes cut to you, a flash of something dark and satisfied flickering in them. He likes it when you’re the one to break the silence; it proves you’re just as affected as they are.
Jean’s chest heaves, his skin gleaming like polished marble in the dim amber light. He looks like he’s one word away from lunging, but the way your eyes are fixed on him, wide and glassy, stalls him.
He can't bring himself to be violent in front of you.
“The storm isn’t letting up,” Eren continues, his hand reaching out to idly trace the line of your shoulder blade. “We’ve got a long hike at dawn. No point in standing there catching a chill just to prove a point.”
Jean lets out a sharp, jagged breath, his shoulders finally dropping as the fight leaves him, replaced by a weary, heavy resignation.
He knows he’s trapped.
He knows Eren has mapped out every inch of this night.
“Fine,” Jean mutters, his voice sounding hollowed out. He avoids your eyes as he reaches for his own bedroll. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Eren doesn’t answer. He just watches the way Jean’s gaze keeps sliding back to you, trapped in the orbit of your half-dressed body. Eren reaches for the edge of the large, shared sleeping bag, unzipping it with a slow, deliberate flourish.
He nudges you into the sleeping bag for you and him, while Jean gets into his own.
Eren rolls onto his side, his chest to your back, and throws a heavy arm over your waist. He pulls you back against his chest, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
It’s quiet for a long time, the only sound the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the tent. Eren’s breathing is slow and deep, the steady rise and fall of his chest acting as a metronome against your back. His hands rub idle, mindless patterns into the soft skin of your waist.
“Jean?” Eren calls out softly. His voice is a low vibration that rumbles through your spine, dripping with a cruel sort of playfulness. “You awake? You left your lantern on.”
The silence that follows is brittle. Then, a low, guttural rasp from the shadows. “Turn it off yourself, Yeager.”
Eren chuckles darkly. He reaches over you to reach the switch, his bicep brushing firmly against your chest as he stretches. It’s a deliberate movement, forcing you to feel the sheer scale of him before he clicks the lantern off.
Total darkness.
The light vanishes, but the world doesn't go quiet. You lie in his arms, eyes wide, staring into the black void of the nylon roof. You can hear Eren’s calm, rhythmic breathing behind you, and from the other side, the jagged, uneven hitch of Jean’s.
Eren is a furnace. His large, thick cock is nestled right between the globes of your ass, twitching against you with every heavy pulse of his heart. You are pressed together, skin to skin, damp and warm.
You feel the moment his muscles finally lose their edge, his body relaxing into yours as he drifts off, his arms tightening around you in a subconscious, iron embrace.
But your mind is still racing. As exhaustion finally begins to pull you under, the darkness starts to play tricks.
You aren't thinking of the rain anymore.
You’re back in the clearing, watching those white dandelion seeds drift through the air like falling stars.
In your dreams, the seeds don't blow away. They settle on Jean’s skin, on the broad, scarred bridge of his shoulders and the rough line of his jaw.
You see his hazel eyes again, no longer tortured or restrained, but glowing with that same animalistic hunger you see in Eren.
You reach for him, but the white seeds turn to ash, and the dream shifts back to the heat of the tent, leaving you suspended in a restless sleep between the man holding you and the man you can't stop seeing.
“o-ohh fuhhckk! so m’deepuhh!” you manicured nails dug into the ruffled sheets, attempting to drag yourself forward to soothe the overwhelming sensation. the man behind you laughed under his breath. you then feel his large hand forced your hips back onto his own, pressuring his god-woven cock deeper in your womb.
“nuh uh, don’t run baby. been a good boy and got an A on that chem final cause’ of you. gotta reward my favorite tutor somehow.”
frat!kuna ran his fraternity like the fucking navy. hosting the largest and hottest parties on campus, holding his head up high (considering he’s 6’4), like he owns every room, and unfortunately is terrible at chemistry. almost failing his final if it weren’t for you.
“yea? am i hitting your spot sweets? g’nna make a mess for me?”
“nngh! k-kunaaaa!”
“that’sss right, let me have it, fuck.” his large fingers makes their way to your sensitive bud, giving it slow massaging circles. you let out a silent wail subconsciously bucking your hips as you felt the knot in your stomach burst. squirting all over your thighs, and almost pushing sakuna’s cock out. but he didn’t let up, bottoming out in you.
“w-wait kuna! g’mme a break!!!” you whined, looking back at him weakly as tears prickled from your eyelids.
“awe? my baby’s all cock drunk for me?” he teased. sneaking his hand under your neck, not to choke, just to hold. halting his hips so you can get the tiniest break. slowly grinding back and forth as your legs twitch and let out little mewls.
you then both hear three hard knocks on the wooden door.
“ryo i know you’re not fucking sleeping. party starts in ten and we need the booze!”
before you could continue your whining, you feel sakuna’s palm wrap around your mouth. muffling your loud moans as he started thrusting his hips into yours again.
“sh-shit! just go without me. have to , fuck, finish some shit.” he feels you clenching around his shaft. he shifts all his weight onto your sweaty back, thrusts starting to become sloppy as he slowed down.
“fu-fuck. g’nna cum.” kuna whimpered in your ear. bucking his hips out of desperation, miserably chasing his own high as he overstimulates you. feeling his cock twitch as his warm seeds decorated your walls, some even spilling out. “you’re on the pill right?” he asked while also catching his breath. removing his palm from your lips, brushing some of your curls out of your face.
“i-implant.” you responded. seeing the mans eyebrows perk up in curiosity.
you and bandmate!mikasa in brazil during 4tune’s world tour. sasha innocuously adds this pic to one of her photo dumps and your fans go absolutely feral (shippers get a whole new round of ammo)