- lilac fever ⊹ ࣪ ˖
relationship: Eren Yeager x Reader
word count: 10.6k
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?”)
“Yeah. Take me home.”
