⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.
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── 𝟐𝟖 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐫𝐮
⟡ chapter word count: 3.3k
⟡ content warnings: blanket warnings
⟡ a/n: ...heyyyyy. so. i got hit with a severe case of writers block and assignments. this chapter has not been edited, i just finished it and i want it out. i mentioned this i think, but no this is not a reupload i just wrote, to no ones surprise, too much for one chapter and had to make another one and i liked this title with this one better, so i changed them. anyway here bon app the teeth we are getting closer and closer to some reveals and eventually the end
Thank you for reading!
Mitras stands proud when you arrive, and it is in a whirlwind of ceremony Queen Historia leads that you are walked into a somewhat familiar room inside the palace. While you are sure it is not the same, you can’t deny the commonalities it shares with the one you had been assessed in all those months ago. The reminder does little to quell your nerves; if anything, it amplifies them.
You are led to stand by a wall, next to one of the younger Volunteers that came from Marley. They’re all men apart from you and Yelena—you’ve grown used to standing out amongst them, but it's been enough time that nobody bats an eye at the line up.
The Scouts who came from the hallway are then joined by members of the Garrison and the Military Police as they walk into the room. You recognize a few faces—just Pixis by name, really—but apart from the Scouts you are acquainted with you can’t place anyone else.
Your role today is to listen. To not open your mouth, to see if everything is going as it once did, to verify if Zeke has made the deal in the name of Paradis, to connect dots you might have missed and can only now remember. To stand by, and do nothing as the beginning of the end commences.
It's safe to say you are not particularly thrilled about it.
You watch as Lady Azumabito presents Mikasa with the crest of her ancestors, you watch as she reveals the same one on the back of her wrist. You watch as Lady Azumabito recognizes her as a descendant of Hizuru’s ruler, you watch as she and her entourage are similarly overwhelmed by the emotions it unravels.
You watch and you stay silent. For a moment, it's almost like you are experiencing the show again.
A show. Peoples’ lives were a show to you.
But the light that comes through the grand windows warms your skin, the wayward breeze is cool against your neck, and the blood that courses through your veins is pumped by a heart powered by this world. Still, you watch.
It's times like these where you miss the episode format—existential crisis and all—of Attack on Titan. There's not much to do but listen to a conversation you’ve already heard before, to appreciate the glittering chandeliers strung above, to follow the others when you are given a short break after the exchange between Lady Azumabito and Mikasa goes on for longer than you had been shown.
You are not allowed out into the hallway when an intermission is announced. Instead, you and the Volunteers stay inside while the officials from Paradis converge outside to discuss something—you can’t really remember what it was, but then again, these days you have trouble recalling details.
It's fine. There are worse things to worry about anyway, things that are more important to keep at the forefront of your mind. Who cares about a five minute scene that won’t have much weight in the long run. Not you, that's for sure.
You do wish you could remember what they were talking about though. Just to know.
Yelena calls your name from the middle of the room, where she stands in front of Lady Azumabito and her entourage. Your eyes snap to hers in that instant, and you see as her blunt cut moves slightly when she makes the tiniest nod towards the people from Hizuru. Come, her eyes seem to say.
Your footsteps echo in the grand hall, with only the faintest murmur of conversation outside of it as its companion. As you make your way closer, you realize you have about ten seconds to prepare yourself for whatever it is Yelena has told them or whatever it is you must tell them now. Irritation spikes in your chest—couldn’t Yelena have told you about this before? It is not in her to be kind, that’s for sure, but you would at least think she would minimize the chances of you fucking up.
Oh god. If they started talking about the plan, which they yet have to present, would you be expected to add to it? To just agree? Do they know you know? Well—you can’t really think of any other reason why they would single you out to talk to. None of the other Volunteers have come forward, and something in your gut tells you none will be called. Your eyes meet Onyankopon’s, who raises a singular and discreet thumbs up to encourage you.
Wait, does Onyankopon know? In between the half-related thoughts that swirl through your mind, your brain chooses to latch onto that one. It’s not unfounded—he was there when you arrived from seemingly nowhere, so what has he been told about it? You don’t think he would do anything malicious with the information but—
“There you are,” Yelena says when you finally arrive. She quickly introduces you by name to Lady Azumabito, who offers you a tight-lipped smile when you make a small bow forwards in acknowledgement.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” you say, defaulting to a polite pre-written script when your mind fails to catch up to the situation. “I hope your journey here was not too uncomfortable.”
“Not at all,” Lady Azumabito says. “It is not everyday Hizuru’s old allies call for help. How could we refuse?”
Maybe not refuse, but you certainly didn’t make much effort originally, you think but bite back. You simply nod, reminding yourself of what little they did manage to do to keep your words in check. “Of course. I think I can speak for many people when I express how grateful the island is for your—and Hizuru’s—help.”
Lady Azumabito’s eyes glint, like you’ve given her the perfect segway. She seems to straighten her perfect posture further, and while in any other context it would be regal what she exudes, in this very moment the only thing she reminds you of is a lioness going for the kill.
“Yelena has told us you are the Volunteer who has the most contact with the Scouts. If I may ask, how did that come to be? I never would have thought the island would be so… forthcoming with new visitors.” Lady Azumabito lets out a little laugh, crinkling the corners of her eyes on what you assume is an attempt at reassurance. “Especially since none of the other Volunteers have been able to as much as see the holder of the Attack Titan, and yet I’m told you two have a close bond.” She finishes in an odd tone, almost question-like, leaving you to wonder what exactly she means by that.
You swallow, buying a few seconds for your response. “Yes,” you start, “that is true, but…I can’t say there’s really been any reason for it. I was placed with them as a collateral of sorts and then we just sort of…clicked?” You cringe internally. Could you have framed that in a cheesier way? “What I mean to say is, there is really nothing I did for the opportunity.”
“And yet you still work with them, yes? That must say something about your character.”
“Maybe,” you concede. You’d always thought that no one could come close to Yelena and her cryptic interrogations, but hey, Lady Azumabito might just fight her for that title.
“And speaking of,” she continues, seemingly unbothered by your lackluster response, “in your opinion, have they been receptive to our assistance? You understand they haven't made their stance clear yet. Of course, that is what the meeting is for, but I’d appreciate any insight you might have.”
You don’t know what answer she wants to hear. Whether it's something about any other plans the island has in mind, anything to do with Mikasa and her lineage—maybe even what you’ve told them to sway them in one direction or another. Without much to trace an outline for your response then, you wind up saying the safest option.
“Oh. Well. They haven't shared much with me, but I’m sure they will be nothing short of cooperative.”
Yelena’s and Lady Azumabito’s eyes cross, and they give each other a thin smile at that. Lady Azumabito then turns to you, addressing you once again. “Spoken like a true diplomat,” she says. “Yelena has trained you well.”
You accept her compliment with a smile, because opening your mouth right now means you might say something you’ll most definitely regret later. You don't like her seedy smile, nor her seedy eyes, and you most definitely don't like the way she’ll back down from assisting the island if push comes to shove.
“I cannot take all the credit,” Yelena says at your side. “I am sure she learned more under Zeke’s tutelage than mine.”
“Of course,” Lady Azumabito says. “That man is a visionary, is he not? Just one meeting I had with him, and well…” her eyes glaze over, and you are sure she is thinking about whatever resources Zeke has promised in exchange for her help. “One can’t help but notice his way with words.”
And resource-centered motivators, you think.
“Might you—” you start, “if I may…?” Hell, you should just go for it, formal language be damned. “Do you know how he is doing? How things are back in Marley?”
If Lady Azumabito is surprised by your lack of decorum, she does not show it. Yelena, on the other hand, is unexpectedly affected. Of course, ‘affected’ for her just means the tiny itty-bitty disruption in her breathing pattern, one you have learned to identify after one too many dumb and abrupt statements on your part.
You blame sleep deprivation for those rare occasions you had blurted out things you’d rather she forget. They were nothing bad or incriminating, thankfully, just…embarrassing.
“No, nothing out of the ordinary, I don’t think,” Lady Azumabito says. “You received some letters last time, is that right?” At your nod, she continues. “Unfortunately, this time the circumstances weren’t optimal for correspondence between us, but rest assured nothing too terrible has happened.” She smiles, proud of her little joke. “We would know.”
You try to not let your disappointment show. Yeah, you hadn’t prepared any letters or anything—procrastination was your best friend after avoidance—but world news wouldn’t tell you about Gabi’s day to day. What she ate, how she and Falco did in their examinations, where new shops had opened in the Internment Zone. About Colt’s training, Zeke’s double edged but ultimately encouraging words.
“Chin up, dear,” Lady Azumabito says, so you guess you weren’t all that successful in hiding your less than pleased expression. “You’ll get to see your family sooner rather than later, if everything goes according to plan.”
“Yes,” you say, unsure of any other answer. “Thank you.”
Yelena tacks on another statement you are too out of it to make sense of. Something about gratefulness and opportunities and the royal families and whatnot—something about the reception later today too, if the words you do manage to catch are anything.
The heavy doors to that exit into the hallway begin to creak open once again, and slowly, officials from Paradis start to trickle into the salon. Yelena makes her way to the long table in the middle of the room
“You must stay for two thirds of it, at minimum," Yelena says softly to you, when you take your place beside her and behind the chair Lady Azumabito currently occupies.
“Sorry?”
“The reception tonight,” she clarifies. “I am sure you’ve been informed there will be a constant stream of transports to your residence, but I must ask you to stay for at least two thirds of the event’s duration.”
“Two—two thirds?” you splutter, straightening up and regaining your composure when the Queen and her advisors walk in. “But that’s like two hours and something!” you whisper. You don’t yell or whine, however much you want to, but you hope the tone of your voice is at least capable of convincing Yelena to let you leave earlier.
“We will round that down to two hours, then,” she says, conceding all of twenty minutes or so above the two hours to your favor. She smiles, and you know you’d have more luck extracting water from a rock than changing her stance.
You look away, then back at her again when she calls your name.
“We came here to see our task completed,” she says. “You must understand, we all have our role to play.”
Yelena lets you ruminate in those words as the others take their own seats while you (and the other Volunteers) remain standing. We all have our role to play, she had said.
You aren’t even sure what your role is, exactly. But as your eyes meet Eren’s when he takes his own seat at the table, you know it’s less about the role you do have than the ones you don’t. The ones you want to prevent from existing.
The Martyr. The Sacrifice. The Pawn.
The Executioner.
Lady Azumabito starts explaining the guidelines under which Zeke had constructed his plan. There are no hard lines to it yet, just the context with which she had embarked across the sea to propose an alliance to the island. She establishes what there is to lose, who there is to convince. And for them, what there is to gain.
You know Mikasa well enough by now to notice as her eyes grow sharper when Lady Azumabito talks about the island’s resources. Of course, she expected to be more of a pretext than anything—she had said as much when you talked about her position in Hizuru’s goals—but hearing it confirmed must still be anything but pleasant.
Hange, Pixis, the other government officials—they are not surprised either. Maybe a little disappointed, but in a cutthroat world where the outside has been sending your own people to eliminate you, hardly anything seems to phase them anymore.
Of course, that is until Zeke’s plan is fully unveiled.
It is a fact that no person would offer help to the island simply out of the good of their hearts. No, instead, the situation has become more like fertile ground for ulterior motives, be that as it may. Hizuru is after the resources, Willy Tybur is looking to soothe his own guilt. And you want to go home.
Easy for you to say, when you plan to leave the moment an opportunity arises, Eren had said once, months ago. You haven’t touched the subject since then, about what he’ll tell others, about any letters or such you want to leave behind, about what you’ll say when it's time to say goodbye. You’ve both been running from that conversation, skirting around anything that comes after the expected reconciliation between Paradis and the world, dodging any and all references to your departure.
Sometimes you think he believes you’ll stay in the end. Sometimes you think about staying.
In the end, you say nothing, he says nothing, and so it is never brought up. Not until the bridge is there to burn with both of you on opposite sides.
Back in the present conversation and at Historia’s inquiry, Lady Azumabito starts to lay out the steps needed for the plan.
First, there is the Rumbling. Not on a scale big enough to destroy civilization, rather one whose purpose is to showcase the island’s power to the other nations, to scare them into leaving Paradis alone. The titans would march to a predetermined spot for the world to watch—in horror, in awe, in whatever it took for them to back off.
Second, Hizuru would step up and act as a propulsor for the military. Just like with the rifles, the technology and strength of the nation would be elevated to a similar level to that of the outside world. Paradis would not become a military power by any means—not anytime soon, anyway—but it would be enough to hold some leverage over theoretical future conflicts.
Third, the possession of the Founding and a Titan with royal blood during the fifty years that the plan will envelop. With Lady Azumabito’s words, your stomach churns.
“The next step the plan requires,” she starts, causing your shoulders to tense, your heart to speed up, “is the continuous possession of the Founder and a Titan of royal blood during this period.”
You look at Eren directly, but he won’t meet your eyes. However, his features are more schooled than what you expected, so you take the win. The paper he is holding still creases under his clenched hands though, and you can only hope Lady Azumabito will not notice, or take offence to it.
You physically recoil at the thought. This is why you hate politics. Here they are, offering up a plan that will put one of your friends’ oldest friends in a position not much different than that of a heifer, and here you are. Worrying about Eren’s reaction to it—not because of his feelings per se (well, yes, but that is not what you are focusing on), but rather because of how it will look to the delegation.
Everything about this makes you want to vomit.
“Zeke will pass down the Beast to someone with royal blood,” Lady Azumabito continues, unaware of your internal plight. Mikasa turns her head at her, unbelieving, as the plan is unveiled. “That person must spend the 13 years they have bearing as many children as possible.”
Bearing. Like the aforementioned heifer.
Eren’s eyes still don’t look at yours, so you take it as a sign to look at everyone else. You had already seen Mikasa's reaction, on account of them sitting next to each other, but you take the opportunity to look at the high ranking officials around the table, namely the subject of the conversation at hand. The Queen.
Like Eren, she's more composed than you would have thought. Her back is straight, her eyes are focused, her face is relaxed. Even her hands, which you have noticed are among the first things people lose control of, are unwound. Her face is hardened, but with the responsibility of others' lives, not her own. Shadis’ face is much the same, like Hange’s, although theirs does have more worry than their colleagues.
You don’t remember their internal monologue, if there ever was one, but you don’t have to be a transmigrator to guess what it could be about. All of the people in this room care about Historia to a degree, of course—she is their Queen, after all—but Hange had been close to her when she was just another soldier. You have to admire the professionalism though. The only thing that betrays the sentiment on their face is their furrowed brow, easily passable as concentration.
Historia’s eyes rise from the documents she is holding. “Very well,” she says. “The Beast Titan will be inherited by the royal family. As long as the Rumbling is tied to our survival.” Behind the table, the officials are all stone-faced. Eren’s eye twitches. His hands tighten. You’re bracing for an outburst when Lady Azumabito speaks again.
“And the final step,” she says, to your surprise, “involves a spokesperson, to clean Paradis’ image in the eyes of the world.”
Your eyes widen.
“His name,” Lady Azumabito says, “is Willy Tybur. The details are not fully fleshed out yet, on account of the…less than ideal situation with Marley and the Middle-Eastern Alliance, but the foundation is being worked on for future cooperation between nations. All of this, of course, is assuming the island accepts.”
Her lips curl at the end of her statement, and while none of her smiles today have been genuine, there is something more strained about this one. Is she thinking about resources she might lose, if Paradis reaches contracts with others? Has Willy Tybur taken that into account? And most importantly, what exactly are they planning to do?
Unlike in the original timeline, this time there is no scapegoat to blame—or you hope there won’t be one anyway—so what exactly is the method of approach here? Lady Azumabito and Willy Tybur didn’t work together before; they each had their own plans hidden from the other, and none were successful. So what changed?
“We will move forward with the proposed plan,” the Queen says. “Let this be the start of an alliance that will last for years to come.”
In this modern AU, Eren, a magnetic political science major, and Aurora, a gentle pharmacy student, find each other in a world untouched by war. Their soulmate spark ignites at a chaotic birthday dinner, a fleeting moment that feels like destiny where their instant connection proves they’re meant to be, no matter the timeline, in a tale as tender as it is electric.
In this modern AU, Eren, a magnetic political science major, and Aurora, a gentle pharmacy student, find each other in a world untouched by war. Their soulmate spark ignites at a chaotic college dinner, a fleeting moment that feels like destiny where their instant connection proves they’re meant to be, no matter the timeline, in a tale as tender as it is electric.
Spinoff Sequel to The Devil's Bride (Eren x OC)
18+ Only | Minors Do Not Interact
Chapter One | Fever
The late afternoon sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of Aurora and Historia’s dorm room, casting a warm golden glow over the cluttered space. The room was a study in contrasts: Aurora’s side was tidy, with neatly stacked pharmacology textbooks and a small apothecary-style organizer for her skincare products, while Historia’s side was a chaotic explosion of clothes, makeup palettes, and half-finished iced coffee cups. The air smelled faintly of vanilla body spray and nail polish remover, a scent that had become the signature of their shared space.
Aurora sat cross-legged on her bed, her platinum blonde hair pulled into a loose bun as she meticulously painted her toenails a soft lavender. Her ice-blue eyes were focused, her tongue peeking out slightly in concentration as she dragged the brush across her nail. She wore a simple oversized sweatshirt and leggings, her usual modest attire, though the hem of the sweatshirt rode up slightly to reveal the curve of her waist. Every so often, she glanced up at Historia, who was standing in front of her open wardrobe, holding up a sparkly silver mini dress in one hand and a black leather skirt in the other.
“Silver or black?” Historia asked, her voice distracted as she tilted her head, assessing the outfits. Her phone buzzed on the bed, and she dropped the clothes to grab it, her fingers flying across the screen as she typed a response. A mischievous grin spread across her face, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Aurora rolled her eyes, dipping the nail polish brush back into the bottle. “You’re sexting Porco again, aren’t you?” she teased, her tone light but laced with mock exasperation. “I swear, you two are worse than teenagers.”
Historia smirked, not looking up from her phone. “He’s just appreciating my... creative photography skills,” she said, striking a playful pose with one hand on her hip and her phone angled strategically. She was already half-dressed, wearing a lacy bralette and high-waisted jeans, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders in loose waves.
Aurora snorted, shaking her head. “You’re gonna get us kicked out of this dorm if you keep sending nudes. What if you accidentally post that to your story?”
Historia gasped dramatically, clutching her phone to her chest. “I’m offended you think I’m that careless. I’m a professional, Aurora. Besides, Porco’s worth it.” She winked, then returned to her wardrobe dilemma. “Okay, seriously, silver dress or black skirt? Connie’s party is gonna be huge, and I need to look hot.”
Aurora capped her nail polish and leaned back on her hands, studying her cousin. “Silver. It’ll make your eyes pop. But you’re gonna freeze in that thing. It’s October.”
Historia waved a hand dismissively. “Beauty is pain. And Porco will keep me warm.” She tossed the black skirt onto her bed, pulled off her jeans, and slipped the silver dress over her head, shimmying it down her petite frame. The fabric hugged her curves, catching the light with every movement. She twirled, striking a pose. “Thoughts?”
“You look like you’re about to walk a runway,” Aurora said, smiling. “Porco’s gonna lose his mind.”
“That’s the plan,” Historia replied, grabbing her phone again as it buzzed. Her fingers danced across the screen, and she giggled at whatever Porco had sent. Aurora shook her head again, turning her attention to her own phone as it lit up with a notification.
It was a text from Eren: Hey, what time should I pick you up for the party? You and Historia ready yet? Does she need a ride?
Aurora’s lips curved into a soft smile as she typed back. “Eren’s asking when we’ll be ready,” she said aloud, glancing at Historia. “And if you need a ride.”
Historia looked up from her phone, her expression brightening. “Oh, tell him I’ll ride with you guys. I’m meeting Porco at Connie’s place anyway, so it works out.”
Aurora nodded, her thumbs moving quickly. We’ll be ready in like an hour and a half. And yeah, Historia’s coming with us.
Eren’s reply came almost instantly: Two hours then. You guys are never ready on time.
Aurora laughed softly, her cheeks warming. “He says two hours because we’re always late.”
“Rude but accurate,” Historia said, tossing her phone onto the bed and grabbing a pair of strappy heels. “Okay, I’m set. Now let’s figure out what you’re wearing, Miss Modest. You can’t show up to Connie’s party in sweatpants.”
Aurora groaned, flopping back onto her bed. “I was just gonna wear jeans and a sweater. It’s a college party, not a fashion show.”
Historia gasped, clutching her chest as if Aurora had personally offended her. “Absolutely not. You gotta step it up.” She marched over to her wardrobe and started rifling through it, pulling out a white leather miniskirt and holding it up triumphantly. “This. And I have the perfect top to go with it.”
Aurora sat up, eyeing the skirt warily. “That’s... really short. And tight. I don’t know, Historia. It’s not really me.”
“That’s the point,” Historia said, tossing the skirt onto Aurora’s bed. “You’re always hiding your figure in those baggy sweaters and mom jeans. Show off a little! Eren’s gonna die when he sees you.”
Aurora hesitated, her fingers brushing over the soft leather. She wasn’t used to dressing so boldly—her usual style leaned toward cozy cardigans and flowy dresses, outfits that matched her gentle, reserved personality. But the idea of surprising Eren, of seeing his reaction, sent a flutter through her chest. “Okay, fine,” she said, relenting. “But if I feel ridiculous, I’m changing.”
“You won’t,” Historia promised, already digging through her closet for the top. She emerged with a baby blue tube top, the fabric stretchy and slightly shimmery. “This with the skirt, your white sneakers for comfort, and a messy high ponytail. Trust me, you’re gonna look hot as hell.”
Two hours later, the dorm room was a whirlwind of activity. Historia had finished her own makeup, her face glowing with highlighter and her lips painted a bold red. She was now perched on Aurora’s bed, expertly applying bronzer to Aurora’s cheeks. “Hold still,” Historia muttered, blending the product with a fluffy brush. “You’re gonna thank me when you see the final result.”
Aurora sat trying not to fidget. Her hair was already styled in a high, messy ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face. The white leather miniskirt hugged her hips, accentuating her figure, and the baby blue tube top made her boobs look, as Historia had gleefully pointed out, “absolutely phenomenal.” Her white sneakers added a touch of her usual comfort, but the overall look was far sexier than anything she’d ever worn. She felt exposed, her cheeks flushing as she caught her reflection in the mirror.
“I look... different,” Aurora said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “What if it’s too much?”
Historia set down the makeup brush and placed her hands on Aurora’s shoulders, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Aurora, you look incredible. Like, jaw-dropping, stop-traffic incredible. Eren’s gonna lose his mind, and you’re gonna feel like a goddess. Own it.”
Aurora took a deep breath, nodding. “Okay. I trust you.”
“Good,” Historia said, grinning. “Now let’s do your lashes, and we’re done.”
As Historia reached for the false eyelashes, there was a knock at the door. Aurora’s heart skipped a beat, her nerves flaring. “That’s probably Eren,” she said, standing up quickly. “I’m not ready!”
“Relax, I got it,” Historia said, hopping off the bed and striding to the door. She flung it open, revealing Eren standing in the hallway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. His black Jeep Wrangler was parked outside, visible through the dorm’s window.
“Eren!” Historia chirped, pulling him into a quick hug. “Right on time, as always.”
Eren chuckled, returning the hug briefly before stepping inside. “Yeah, well, I know you two take forever.” He was dressed in his signature casual style: an oversized graphic tee with a faded band logo, dark jeans, and black combat boots. His brown hair was pulled back into a messy man bun, a few strands falling loose around his face. His black stud earrings glinted in the light, and his key necklace rested against his chest, paired with a couple of silver rings on his fingers. He looked effortlessly handsome, his green eyes scanning the room before landing on the bathroom door, where Aurora had scurried off too, fussing with her makeup.
“Aurora’s in the bathroom, struggling with her lashes,” Historia said, smirking. “Go help her out. I’m almost ready.”
Eren raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “Lashes, huh? This I gotta see.” He crossed the room in a few long strides and pushed open the bathroom door, leaning against the frame as he took in the sight of his girlfriend.
Aurora was standing in front of the mirror, one false eyelash in hand, her brows furrowed in concentration. The moment Eren saw her, he froze, his breath catching. The faux-leather miniskirt hugged her curves in all the right places, the baby blue tube top accentuating her chest and leaving her shoulders bare. The makeup Historia had applied made her ice-blue eyes pop, her lips glossy and inviting. She looked like a vision—different from her usual modest style, but undeniably stunning.
“Holy shit,” Eren said under his breath, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining her. “Aurora, you look... wow.”
Aurora’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she nearly dropped the eyelash, fumbling to catch it. “Eren! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said, her voice a mix of embarrassment and amusement. “I’m trying to focus.”
Eren grinned, stepping into the bathroom and closing the distance between them. He stood behind her, his hands finding her waist as he admired her reflection in the mirror. “You don’t need to focus on anything. You already look perfect.” His voice was low, his gaze lingering on the way the skirt hugged her hips, the curve of her back, the way her ponytail swayed slightly as she moved.
Aurora’s blush deepened, and she glanced at him in the mirror, her lips curving into a shy smile. “You’re just saying that.”
“Nope,” Eren said, his hands tightening slightly on her waist. “I mean it. This skirt, this top, the hair... you’re killing me, baby.” He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You sure we have to go to this party?”
Aurora laughed, the sound light and musical, but her hand shook slightly, and the eyelash slipped from her fingers again, landing precariously close to the sink drain. “Eren, stop distracting me! These stupid lashes are impossible.”
He chuckled, his hands still on her waist as he studied her in the mirror. “You don’t need those wings on your eyes, you know. You’re gorgeous without them.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. “You’re sweet, but I’m committed now. I’m not giving up.” She reached for the eyelash again, but her hands were trembling slightly, her nerves getting the better of her.
Eren watched her struggle for a moment, then gently turned her to face him, his hands resting on her hips. “Here, let me try.”
Aurora’s eyes widened, and she let out a skeptical laugh. “You? Eren, you’ve never touched a pair of lashes in your life. You’re gonna poke my eye out.”
“How hard can it be?” he said, his tone teasing but confident. “It’s just sticking something on, right? Gimme the lash.”
She hesitated, then handed him the eyelash, her expression dubious. “If you mess this up, I’m blaming you.”
Eren smirked, taking the lash and the tiny tube of glue with surprising care. “Relax, I got this.” He leaned in close, his face inches from hers as he carefully applied a thin layer of glue to the lash strip. Aurora held her breath, her heart racing as his fingers brushed against her cheek. His touch was steady, his green eyes focused as he lined up the lash with her eyelid and pressed it into place.
To her shock, he did it perfectly on the first try. The lash sat flush against her lash line, enhancing her already striking eyes. Aurora blinked, turning to the mirror to inspect his work. “Oh my god,” she said, her voice full of disbelief. “You actually did it. How?!”
Eren shrugged, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Told you I got this. I’m a man of many talents.”
Aurora laughed, shaking her head as she turned back to him. For the first time since he’d walked in, she took a moment to really look at him. He was as handsome as ever, his casual style somehow making him look both rugged and effortlessly cool. The graphic tee hung loosely on his broad shoulders, the jeans fitting just right, and his combat boots added a touch of edge. His man bun was slightly messy, a few strands framing his face. He was magnetic, and the way he was looking at her now, with that intense, smoldering gaze, made her stomach flip.
“You look pretty good yourself,” she said softly, standing on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. The kiss was slow, sweet, her hands resting lightly on his chest. “I like the man bun. And the rings.”
Eren’s smirk returned, and before she could pull away, he lifted her effortlessly onto the edge of the bathroom sink, stepping between her legs. “Oh, you like the rings, huh?” he teased, his hands sliding to her thighs, his fingers grazing the hem of the miniskirt. “What else do you like?”
Aurora’s breath hitched, her arms wrapping around his neck as she smiled up at him. “You’re fishing for compliments now,” she said, her voice playful. But her hands betrayed her, slipping under the hem of his shirt to trace the muscles of his back, her touch tentative but bold for her.
Eren leaned in, deepening the kiss, his lips moving against hers with a hungry edge. His hands tightened on her thighs, pulling her closer until there was no space between them. The kiss grew more passionate, Aurora’s fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as she melted into him. The world outside the bathroom faded away, the party and their friends forgotten for a moment.
“We’re not gonna make it to this party if you keep kissing me like this, baby,” Eren murmured against her lips, his voice rough with desire.
Aurora chuckled, her cheeks flushed as she pulled back slightly, her hands still roaming under his shirt. “Maybe we should just skip it,” she said, her tone half-teasing, half-serious. “You could stay here tonight. We could... hang out.” Her fingers traced lazy circles on his back, her touch sending a shiver through him.
Eren’s eyes darkened, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “You’re making it real hard to say no,” he said, his voice low. “Keep talking like that, and I’m locking this door.”
Before Aurora could respond, the bathroom door swung open, and Historia’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Oh my god, you two are disgusting,” she said, her tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, her silver dress sparkling under the dorm’s fluorescent lights. “Stop sucking face and let’s go. We’re already late, and Porco’s blowing up my phone.”
Aurora’s face turned scarlet, and she buried it in Eren’s chest, muffling a laugh. Eren didn’t move, his hands still on her thighs as he shot Historia a mock glare. “Ever heard of knocking, Reiss?”
“It’s my bathroom too, Jaeger,” Historia shot back, grinning. “Now come on. Connie’s gonna kill us if we’re late, and I’m not missing the chance to dance with my man.”
Eren sighed, reluctantly stepping back and helping Aurora down from the sink. “Fine,” he said, his eyes lingering on Aurora as she smoothed out her skirt. “But you owe me for interrupting.”
Historia rolled her eyes, grabbing her purse and phone. “Whatever. Let’s move.”
Aurora grabbed her own phone and a small crossbody bag, her heart still racing from the kiss. She caught Eren’s gaze as they headed for the door, and he winked at her, his hand brushing against hers. The promise in his eyes made her stomach flutter, and she knew the night was far from over.
As they stepped out into the cool October evening, Eren’s Jeep Wrangler gleamed under the streetlights, its black paint catching the light. He opened the passenger door for Aurora, his hand lingering on her lower back as she climbed in. Historia hopped into the back, already texting Porco again.
“Ready for a wild night?” Eren asked, sliding into the driver’s seat and glancing at Aurora.
She smiled, her nerves fading as she looked at him. “With you? Always.”
He grinned, starting the engine, and as the Jeep roared to life, Aurora couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was going to be unforgettable.
Eren drove with one hand on the steering wheel, his posture relaxed but his grip firm, exuding a quiet confidence that made Aurora’s heart race. His other hand rested on her thigh, his fingers splayed possessively over the smooth skin exposed by her miniskirt. The contact was casual at first, almost absentminded, but the way his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against her flesh sent a jolt of heat through her body.
Aurora’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap as she tried to focus on anything but the fire Eren’s touch was igniting. The memory of their heated makeout session in the bathroom lingered, her lips still tingling from his kisses, her body still humming with unfulfilled desire. Her outfit made her feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that both thrilled and unnerved her. Eren’s hand was like lava, searing her skin, and every subtle movement of his fingers sent a fresh wave of electricity coursing through her. She was already teetering on the edge, her body hyper-aware of his proximity, his scent—a mix of cedarwood cologne and something distinctly him—filling the confined space of the Jeep.
Eren, for his part, was perfectly aware of the effect he was having. He knew Aurora like the back of his hand, could read the subtle tells of her arousal: the way her breath hitched, the faint flush creeping up her neck, the way her thighs pressed together ever so slightly. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he stole a glance at her, his green eyes glinting with mischief. Without breaking his focus on the road, he lifted her hand from her lap, bringing it to his lips. His kiss was soft, deliberate, his lips brushing against her knuckles as he held her gaze for a fleeting moment. “You okay over there, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the smirk widening as he watched her cheeks bloom with color.
Aurora’s breath caught, her ice-blue eyes widening as she tried to muster a response. “Y-yeah,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m fine.” But the way her hand trembled in his, the way her thighs shifted under his touch, told a different story. She was anything but fine—she was unraveling, and Eren knew it.
In the backseat, Historia was blissfully oblivious to the tension brewing in the front. She lounged across the leather seats, her phone held up as she scrolled through Instagram stories from their friend group. The silver mini dress sparkled as she shifted, her golden hair catching the glow of her screen. “Oh my god, Sasha’s already drunk,” she laughed, tapping her screen to zoom in on a video of Sasha and Connie playing beer pong in what looked like a crowded living room. Sasha was mid-throw, her face scrunched in concentration, while Connie heckled her from the sidelines. In the background, Historia spotted Porco, looking as handsome as ever in a fitted black shirt, his blonde hair tousled as he leaned in to talk to Pieck and Annie. Her lips curved into a fond smile, her fingers already typing a flirty message to him. “Porco’s gonna have to carry me home tonight,” she muttered to herself, completely engrossed.
Eren’s hand returned to Aurora’s thigh, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous circles. But this time, his touch wasn’t so innocent. His hand slid higher, inching up the hem of her miniskirt, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Aurora’s eyes widened in alarm, her head snapping toward him. “Eren,” she hissed, her voice a panicked whisper. “Historia’s right there!”
Eren didn’t even glance at her, his focus still on the road, but the smirk on his face was downright devilish. He flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror, confirming that Historia was still lost in her phone, her airpods now in as she bobbed her head to some song. “She’s not paying attention,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Aurora’s spine. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”
Before she could protest, his fingers grazed higher, brushing against the thin cotton of her panties. Aurora jolted in her seat, a soft gasp escaping her lips as her hands gripped the edge of the seat. The sensation was overwhelming, her body betraying her as heat pooled low in her belly. Eren’s touch was light, teasing, his fingers tracing the outline of her clit through the fabric with agonizing precision. Her thighs trembled, instinctively wanting to close, but his hand held her firmly in place, his grip both commanding and gentle.
Historia’s voice cut through the haze, startling Aurora. “What’s wrong?” she asked, glancing up from her phone with a frown. “You okay, Aurora?”
Aurora’s heart pounded, her face flaming as she scrambled for an excuse. “I-I just got the chills,” she lied, her voice shaky. She shot Eren a glare, but he was the picture of innocence, his hand still resting on her thigh as if nothing was happening.
Eren’s smirk widened, and he reached for the dashboard, turning up the heater with a casual flick of his wrist. “I’ll warm you up,” he said, his tone so smooth it was almost infuriating. But the glint in his eyes told her he was enjoying this far too much, relishing the risk, the thrill of teasing her right under Historia’s nose.
Historia shrugged, already distracted again as she returned to her phone. “Whatever, just don’t freeze to death before we get there.”
Aurora barely registered her cousin’s words, her entire focus consumed by Eren’s hand. His fingers resumed their torment, slipping beneath the edge of her panties this time. She bit her lip to stifle a whimper as he brushed against her bare skin, his touch sending a shockwave of pleasure through her. He was slow, deliberate, his finger circling her clit with a rhythm that made her head spin. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her hands clutching the seat as she fought to stay quiet.
Eren’s eyes flicked to her again, his smirk softening into something more intense, more possessive. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. “Trying so hard to be good for me.”
Aurora’s cheeks burned, her body trembling as his finger dipped lower, teasing her entrance before sliding inside her. The sensation was overwhelming, her walls clenching around him as he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts. She was soaked, her body responding to him with an urgency that made her dizzy. The fact that they were in a moving car, with Historia just feet away, only heightened the intensity, the danger of it all pushing her closer to the edge.
“Eren,” she whispered, her voice pleading, though she wasn’t sure if she was begging him to stop or to keep going. Her head tipped back against the seat, her eyes fluttering shut as she surrendered to the pleasure. His finger curled inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from moaning.
In the backseat, Historia was still scrolling, now watching a story of Mikasa and Armin posing for a selfie, Mikasa’s usual stoic expression softened by a rare smile. “Aww, they’re so cute,” Historia said to herself, completely unaware of the scene unfolding in the front. She tapped out another message to Porco, her fingers flying across the screen.
Eren’s thumb joined the assault, circling her clit as his finger continued its slow, relentless rhythm. Aurora’s hips shifted involuntarily, chasing the pleasure as her breathing grew ragged. She was so close, teetering on the brink of release, her body coiled tight like a spring. Eren’s eyes flicked to her again, his gaze dark and hungry as he watched her unravel. He loved this—loved pushing her, loved seeing her come apart under his touch.
Just as she felt the first waves of her orgasm building, Eren pulled his hand away, leaving her gasping and aching. Aurora’s eyes snapped open, her chest heaving as she stared at him in disbelief. He had the audacity to bring his finger to his lips, sucking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion that made her stomach clench. “Fuck, you taste good,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a growl.
Aurora’s face was on fire, her body throbbing with unspent need. “You’re a demon,” she hissed, her voice shaky but laced with a reluctant amusement. She couldn’t believe he’d stopped, couldn’t believe he was sitting there looking so smug while she was a trembling mess.
Eren chuckled, his hand returning to the steering wheel as he pulled into the parking lot of Connie, Jean, and Sasha’s apartment complex. The building was already alive with activity, music spilling out from the open windows, groups of people milling around outside with red Solo cups in hand. Some were clearly drunk, laughing too loudly or stumbling as they tried to navigate the uneven pavement. The Jeep came to a stop, and Eren cut the engine, turning to Aurora with a grin. “Ready to have some fun?”
Aurora glared at him, though her lips twitched with a smile. “You’re gonna pay for that,” she muttered, smoothing out her skirt as she tried to regain her composure. Her body was still humming, her panties damp, and the thought of walking into a crowded party in this state made her want to sink into the seat and disappear.
Historia finally looked up from her phone, pulling out her airpods as she leaned forward. “Finally! I thought we’d never get here.” She glanced between Eren and Aurora, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do you look so flustered, Aurora? And why’s Eren grinning like an idiot?”
Aurora’s heart skipped a beat, but Eren answered before she could. “She’s just excited for the party,” he said, his tone so casual it was almost convincing. “Right, babe?”
Aurora shot him a look, but nodded. “Yeah. Excited. Let’s go.” She opened the passenger door, grateful for the cool night air that hit her flushed skin. Eren climbed out after her, his hand finding the small of her back as they rounded the Jeep to meet Historia.
Historia hopped out, her silver dress catching the streetlights as she adjusted her purse. “Porco’s probably inside already,” she said, already scanning the crowd. “You guys coming, or are you gonna make out in the parking lot first?”
Eren smirked, his hand sliding down to give Aurora’s ass a subtle squeeze. “We’ll catch up,” he said, his tone teasing. “Go find your man.”
You didn’t have to tell Historia twice.
She was already striding toward the apartment with a sway in her hips. “Don’t be too long!” she called over her shoulder, disappearing into the crowd.
As soon as she was out of sight, Aurora turned to Eren, swatting his chest. “You’re insane,” she hissed, though her voice was laced with laughter. “What if she’d seen? What if we’d crashed?”
Eren caught her wrist, pulling her close until their bodies were pressed together. “I had it under control,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “And you loved every second of it.”
Aurora’s breath hitched, her body responding to his closeness despite her embarrassment. “You’re crazy,” she said, but her arms slid around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his man bun.
“And you’re fucking perfect,” he replied, his voice rough with desire. He kissed her then, hard and hungry, his hands roaming her curves as he backed her against the side of the Jeep. The cool metal against her back was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and she melted into him, her earlier frustration forgotten.
The kiss deepened, Eren’s tongue teasing hers as his hands slid under her skirt, gripping her thighs. Aurora moaned softly, her head spinning as she clung to him. The party was just feet away, the music and laughter a distant hum, but in that moment, it was just the two of them, lost in each other.
“Eren,” she gasped, pulling back slightly. “We should go inside. People are gonna see.”
“Let ‘em,” he growled, but he relented, stepping back and adjusting his jeans with a grimace. “You’re making it real hard to be a gentleman, you know that?”
Aurora laughed, her cheeks flushed as she smoothed out her clothes. “You were never a gentleman,” she teased, taking his hand. “Come on. Let’s go find our friends.”
Eren grinned, lacing his fingers with hers as they headed toward the apartment. The night was young, the party was just getting started, and the tension between them was far from resolved.
…
The apartment was a chaotic swirl of bodies, music, and the sharp tang of spilled beer. The living room was packed, the air thick with the scent of cheap vodka, weed, and too many competing perfumes. Colored LED lights pulsed in time with the bass-heavy trap music blaring from a Bluetooth speaker, casting neon hues over the crowd. Half the people here were strangers—random plus-ones, friends of friends, or just party crashers drawn by the promise of free booze. The other half were familiar faces from the university, a mix of jocks, artsy types, and the usual social butterflies who thrived in this kind of chaos. Aurora clung to Eren’s hand as they wove through the crowd, her heart still racing from their heated moment in the Jeep, her body hyper-aware of his presence beside her.
Eren’s hand was warm and steady, his fingers laced tightly with hers as he navigated the sea of people with ease. He pulled her close in a possessive gesture that sent a fresh wave of heat through her, and she was acutely aware of the eyes that lingered on her as they passed. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention—her usual attire didn’t exactly scream “look at me”—and the weight of those gazes made her cheeks flush. But with Eren’s hand in hers, his touch grounding her, she felt a flicker of confidence, a spark of boldness she hadn’t known she possessed.
They hadn’t gone ten steps before they spotted their friend group clustered near the kitchen, a familiar island in the sea of strangers. Connie, the man of the hour, was in the center of it all, his lanky frame swaying as he attempted a TikTok dance with Sasha and Reiner. The three of them were clearly wasted, their movements sloppy and exaggerated, their laughter loud enough to cut through the music. Connie’s hat was tilted at a ridiculous angle, his eyes glassy as he threw his arms out, nearly knocking over a stack of Solo cups. Sasha was giggling uncontrollably, her braid swinging as she tried to mimic his moves, while Reiner, all muscle and no rhythm, lumbered through the steps with a goofy grin. Armin stood off to the side, his phone raised as he recorded the chaos, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement behind his glasses.
“Guys, this is gold,” Armin said, laughing as he zoomed in on Connie, who was now attempting a half-hearted twerk. “This is going viral, whether you like it or not.”
“Fuck yeah, make me famous!” Connie slurred, throwing up a peace sign before stumbling into Sasha, who shrieked and grabbed Reiner for balance. The three of them dissolved into a heap of laughter, drawing cheers from the small crowd that had gathered to watch.
Across the room, Aurora’s gaze landed on Historia, who had already found Porco. She was perched on his lap on a sagging couch, her mini dress riding up as she leaned into him, her lips locked with his in a heated kiss. Porco’s hands were on her hips, his blonde hair mussed from her fingers, and the two of them were completely oblivious to the party around them. Aurora rolled her eyes, a fond smile tugging at her lips.
As Eren and Aurora approached, Sasha was the first to spot them, her hazel eyes widening as she broke away from the dance crew. “Holy shit, Aurora!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying over the music. “Bitch, you look hot! Like, damn, where’s the modest, shy pharmacy student we all know and love?”
Aurora’s cheeks flushed, and she instinctively moved closer to Eren, her free hand smoothing down her skirt. “It’s... Historia’s fault,” she said, her voice shy but laced with a hint of pride. “She made me wear this.”
“Well, thank God for Historia,” Sasha said, grinning as she gave Aurora a playful once-over. “Eren, you better keep an eye on her, ‘cause she’s gonna have half the room drooling.”
Eren moved his hand to hold Aurora’s waist, his lips curving into a smug smirk. “Oh, I’m not letting her out of my sight,” he said, his voice low and possessive. His hand rested firmly on her hip, his fingers brushing the bare skin just above her skirt, and the contact sent a shiver through her. He was proud—proud of her, proud to have her by his side, and the way he held her made it clear to everyone in the room that she was his.
The rest of the group noticed them now, and a chorus of greetings erupted. “Eren! Aurora!” Connie called, stumbling over with two Solo cups in hand, the contents sloshing dangerously. “You made it! Yo, this party’s fuckin’ lit!” He thrust the cups toward them, his grin wide and sloppy. “Drink up, you’re behind!”
Aurora eyed the cup he offered her, her nose wrinkling at the murky, amber liquid inside. It looked like a questionable mix of whatever alcohol had been lying around—probably cheap vodka, some kind of soda, and God knows what else. Her pharmacology brain kicked into overdrive, calculating the risks of drinking something that looked like it had been mixed in a chemistry lab gone wrong. “Uh, thanks, Connie,” she said, holding the cup gingerly. “What’s... in this?”
Connie shrugged, already sipping from his own cup. “Fuck if I know. Jean’s in charge of the jungle juice. Tastes like victory, though.”
Eren, on the other hand, had no such reservations. He took the cup from Connie and chugged it back in one go, his throat bobbing as he drained the contents without flinching. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he caught Aurora’s horrified expression. “What?” he said, smirking. “It’s a party, babe. Live a little.”
Aurora shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You’re gonna regret that when you’re puking later,” she teased, setting her own cup on a nearby table. “I’m sticking to water.”
“Boo, you’re no fun!” Sasha said, slinging an arm around Aurora’s shoulders. “Come on, you’re dressed like a bad bitch tonight. You gotta at least do a shot with me later.”
“We’ll see,” Aurora said, her tone noncommittal but her smile warm. Sasha’s enthusiasm was infectious, and despite her nerves, Aurora was starting to relax, the familiar banter of her friends grounding her.
Jean lumbered over, clapping Eren on the shoulder with enough force to make him sway. “Jaeger, you clean up nice,” he said, his voice slurred but genuine. “And Aurora, damn. You’re gonna give Mikasa a run for her money tonight.”
The mention of Mikasa made Aurora’s stomach twist, a flicker of unease cutting through the warmth of the moment. Mikasa was Eren’s childhood friend, a fixture in their friend group and someone Aurora had always found intimidating. Last year, when Historia had brought Aurora to Sasha’s birthday dinner as her plus-one, Eren and Aurora had clicked instantly. Their connection had been electric, a spark that had ignited over shared laughter and quiet conversations in the corner of the restaurant. Within two months, they were dating, and Aurora had been welcomed into the friend group with open arms—mostly. Mikasa, however, had been a different story.
Mikasa had harbored a crush on Eren for years, a fact that was no secret to anyone in the group. When Eren fell for Aurora, it had shattered her, and the tension between the three of them had been palpable for months. There had been awkward silences, strained interactions, and a few heated moments that Aurora still cringed to think about. But nearly a year later, things had settled into a fragile neutrality. Mikasa had accepted that Eren loved Aurora, or at least she’d stopped fighting it. Still, Aurora couldn’t help but feel a pang of self-consciousness whenever Mikasa was around, especially tonight, when she was dressed so far outside her comfort zone.
Eren sensed the shift in her mood, his hand squeezing her hip reassuringly. “Mikasa’s cool,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re fucking perfect.”
Aurora nodded, leaning into him, her nerves easing at his words. “Thanks,” she whispered, her hand resting on his chest as she smiled up at him. His presence was like an anchor, steadying her in the chaos of the party.
Armin joined them, tucking his phone into his pocket as he grinned. “You guys missed Connie trying to do a backflip earlier,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Worth it!” Connie called from the kitchen, where he was now attempting to balance a Solo cup on his head. Sasha cackled, grabbing the cup and dumping the contents over his head, prompting a chorus of cheers and laughter from the crowd.
Aurora laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time that night, she felt like she belonged. Surrounded by laughter, with Eren’s arm around her—made her feel like she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Across the room, Historia and Porco finally came up for air, their kissing session interrupted by Pieck, who plopped down on the couch beside them with a mischievous grin. “Get a room, you two,” Pieck teased, sipping from a bottle of hard seltzer. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, her oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder.
Porco smirked, his arm still around Historia. “Jealous?” he shot back, but his tone was playful, his attention already drifting back to Historia as she whispered something in his ear.
Pieck rolled her eyes, turning her attention to Aurora and Eren. “Well, damn, Aurora,” she said, her gaze sweeping over her outfit. “You’re out here stealing the show tonight.”
Aurora blushed, her hand tightening in Eren’s. “Thanks,” she said, her voice shy. “Historia’s idea.”
“Historia’s a genius,” Pieck said, raising her seltzer in a mock toast. “You’re giving Eren a heart attack, I bet.”
Eren chuckled, his hand sliding lower on Aurora’s waist. “Something like that,” he said, his voice low and suggestive. Aurora’s breath hitched, her body still sensitive from their earlier encounter in the Jeep, and the way he was touching her now—casual but deliberate—was driving her crazy.
The party surged around them, the energy infectious. Jean appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray of Jell-O shots that glowed an unnatural shade of blue under the LED lights. “Who’s ready to get fucked up?” he announced, his voice cutting through the noise. His hair was styled in its usual meticulous way, but his cheeks were flushed, a sign he’d already had a few drinks.
“Me!” Sasha yelled, snatching two shots from the tray and handing one to Aurora. “Come on, Aurora, you can’t say no to Jell-O. It’s basically dessert.”
Aurora hesitated, glancing at Eren, who was watching her with an amused smirk. “Go for it,” he said, his hand giving her hip a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got you.”
She sighed, taking the shot and eyeing it warily. “If I die, it’s on you,” she said, tipping it back. The Jell-O was sweet, the vodka burning as it slid down her throat, and she grimaced, handing the empty cup back to Sasha. “That was... an experience.”
Sasha cheered, throwing an arm around her. “That’s my girl! Now we’re partying!”
As the night wore on, the party grew wilder. Connie and Reiner started a chant, trying to get everyone to do a keg stand, while Armin and Annie disappeared to the balcony for some air. Mikasa appeared at one point, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her expression as unreadable as ever. She nodded at Aurora and Eren, her gaze lingering on them for a moment before she joined Pieck on the couch. Aurora’s stomach twisted, but Mikasa’s demeanor was neutral, and she relaxed, leaning into Eren’s side.
Eren, meanwhile, was in his element, his charisma drawing people to him like moths to a flame. He bantered with Jean, laughed at Connie’s antics, and kept Aurora close, his touch never straying far. Every so often, he’d lean down to whisper in her ear, his words laced with heat—promises of what he’d do to her later, reminders of how much he wanted her. Each whisper sent a fresh wave of desire through her, her body aching for him despite the crowd around them.
At one point, he pulled her into a corner, his hands framing her face as he kissed her deeply, his tongue teasing hers. “You’re driving me fucking crazy in this outfit,” he murmured against her lips, his hands sliding down to grip her ass. “Can’t stop thinking about what we started in the car.”
Aurora’s breath hitched, her hands fisting in his shirt as she pressed herself closer. “You’re not playing fair,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “We’re in public, Eren.”
“Fuck public,” he growled, kissing her again, his hands roaming under her skirt. “I want you. Now.”
She laughed, breathless, pushing against his chest. “Later,” she said, though her body screamed for her to give in. “We’re at a party, remember?”
He groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re killing me, baby. But fine. Later.”
The promise hung between them, electric and heavy, as they rejoined the party. The night stretched on, a blur of laughter, music, and stolen touches, each moment building the tension between them. Aurora knew one thing for certain: when they finally got some alone time, all bets were off.
…
An hour later, the party had reached its fever pitch, a chaotic crescendo of sweat, alcohol, and pulsing music. The apartment was a sauna, bodies pressed together in the dim glow of LED lights that flickered red, blue, and purple in time with the trap beat blasting from the speakers. The air was thick with the mingled scents of spilled beer, vape clouds, and the faint sweetness of someone’s spilled jungle juice. Laughter and shouts ricocheted off the walls, punctuated by the occasional crash of a dropped cup or the cheer of a successful beer pong shot. The crowd was a mix of familiar faces and strangers, all caught up in the hedonistic rush of a college party at its peak.
Aurora was tipsy, the Jell-O shots and a single cup of Sasha’s “special punch” loosening her usual inhibitions. The alcohol buzzed through her veins, warm and heady, making her feel light, bold, alive. She was in the middle of the makeshift dance floor—a cleared-out corner of the living room—her body moving to the rhythm of a sultry R’n’B track. Her skirt hugged her hips, riding up slightly as she swayed. Her hair swung in its messy high ponytail, a few strands sticking to her flushed cheeks as she mouthed the lyrics, her eyes sparkling with confidence.
Eren was right behind her, his hands on her hips, guiding her movements as she pressed back against him. He was wasted, his green eyes glassy and his grin wide, but his touch was sure, possessive, his fingers digging into her skin through the thin faux-leather of her skirt. The alcohol had stripped away his usual stoic edge, leaving him raw, unfiltered, and horny as hell. Aurora’s ass grinding against his hardening cock was driving him to the edge, each roll of her hips sending a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He loved this side of her—the shy, modest pharmacist-to-be transformed into a confident, sensual goddess who moved like she owned the room. It was rare, intoxicating, and it made him want her even more.
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” Eren growled, leaning down to press his lips to her ear. His voice was rough, slurred slightly from the alcohol, but dripping with desire. He pulled her back tighter against him, his chest flush with her back, his hands sliding lower to grip her thighs. “You feel how hard you’re making me, baby? This skirt’s gonna be the death of me.”
Aurora’s breath hitched, a shiver running through her as his words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her legs. She tilted her head back, her lips brushing his jaw as she whispered, “You’re not playing fair, Eren.”
“Who said I play fair?” he murmured, his lips grazing her neck. He nipped at her skin, his teeth scraping lightly before he soothed the spot with a slow, open-mouthed kiss. “I wanna take you to the bathroom, bend you over the sink, and fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight. Wanna see that pretty ass bouncing while I’m deep inside you, baby. You want that, don’t you?”
Aurora nearly choked, her cheeks flaming as his explicit words painted a vivid picture in her mind. Her pussy clenched at the thought, her panties soaked as she pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache. She knew how Eren got when he was drunk—his filter vanished, his desire raw and unapologetic—and fuck, she wanted him just as badly. “Eren,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “You can’t just say shit like that.”
“Why not?” he teased, his hands sliding up to her waist, his fingers brushing the bare skin just below her tube top. “You’re so fucking wet for me right now, I can tell. Don’t lie, baby.”
She couldn’t deny it, not when her body was screaming for him, every nerve alight with want. The crowd around them faded, the music and laughter a distant hum as she lost herself in the heat of his touch, the promise in his words. She turned her head, catching his lips in a quick, desperate kiss, her tongue teasing his before she pulled back, breathless. “You’re gonna get us in trouble,” she whispered, but her tone was playful, her eyes dark with desire.
Eren’s grin was feral, his hands tightening on her hips. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “No one’s gonna notice if we’re gone for a bit. I need you, Aurora. Now.”
Her heart pounded, the rational part of her brain drowned out by the alcohol and the overwhelming need coursing through her. She nodded, her hand finding his as she let him lead her through the crowd. The party was too chaotic for anyone to notice them slip away, their friends too drunk or distracted to care. Connie was now attempting to crowd-surf, held aloft by a group of strangers, while Sasha cheered him on, her cup raised high. Historia and Porco were still tangled together on the couch, lost in their own world, and Armin was nowhere to be seen, likely still off with Annie. Even Mikasa, who’d been a quiet presence earlier, was distracted, talking to Pieck by the kitchen.
Eren’s grip on her hand was firm, his long strides purposeful as he navigated the apartment, weaving past a group of drunk freshmen and a couple making out against the wall. He pushed open a door at the end of the hall, revealing a dimly lit bedroom that smelled faintly of cologne and clean laundry. It was Jean’s room, identifiable by the neatly made bed and the framed poster of some indie band on the wall. Eren smirked, making a mental note to buy that horseface a beer later as a thank-you for the unintentional loan of his space.
The door clicked shut behind them, and the noise of the party dulled to a muffled hum, the bass still vibrating through the walls. Eren was on her in an instant, his hands framing her face as he kissed her with a hunger that stole her breath. His lips were demanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he backed her up against the door, the wood cool against her heated skin. Aurora moaned into the kiss, her hands fisting in his tee as she pressed herself closer, her body aching for him.
Eren’s hands roamed, sliding down to her thighs and lifting her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pinned her against the door. Her miniskirt rode up, bunching around her hips, leaving her in just her soaked cotton panties. The friction of his jeans against her core made her whimper, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rocked against him. “Fuck, Aurora,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “You’re so fucking sexy like this.”
He tugged down her tube top with one hand, exposing her breasts to the cool air. Her nipples were already hard, and he didn’t hesitate, his mouth latching onto one with a low moan. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he grazed it with his teeth, drawing a gasp from her. Aurora’s head tipped back against the door, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling it free from its man bun. “Eren,” she moaned, her voice trembling as he alternated between her nipples, lavishing each with attention until she was writhing against him.
“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured against her skin, his hand gripping her ass as he ground his hips against her. His dick was straining against his jeans, the bulge pressing against her clit through her panties, and the sensation was driving her wild. She was desperate, her body screaming for release, for him to fill her, to fuck her until she couldn’t think straight.
“Eren, please,” she begged, her voice breaking as she rocked against him, chasing the friction. “I can’t take it anymore. Fuck me, please.”
His eyes darkened, a growl rumbling in his chest as he carried her to the bed, setting her down on the edge. He stepped back just long enough to use one hand to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, muscled planes of his chest, the faint scars from old injuries glinting in the dim light. His hands moved to his jeans, unbuttoning them and shoving them down along with his boxers in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip glistening with precum, and Aurora’s mouth watered at the sight, her pussy clenching with anticipation.
“Fuck, look at you,” Eren said, his voice low and reverent as he took in the sight of her—skirt bunched around her waist, tube top pulled down, breasts heaving, and her panties soaked through. He grabbed her legs, throwing them over his shoulders as he knelt between her thighs, his hands sliding her panties down and tossing them aside. Her pussy was glistening, pink and swollen, and he groaned, his cock twitching at the sight. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her clit, making her hips buck. “If we had more time, I’d eat you out until you’re screaming my name.”
“Eren, please,” she whimpered, her hands gripping the sheets as she spread her legs wider, desperate for him. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He hovered over her, lining himself up with her entrance, the head of his cock brushing against her slick folds. He pushed in slowly, both of them moaning at the sensation as he stretched her, filling her inch by inch. Aurora’s walls clenched around him, her body adjusting to his size, and the feeling was overwhelming, pleasure bordering on pain. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” Eren groaned, his hands gripping her thighs as he bottomed out, his hips flush with hers.
He started thrusting, long and hard, each stroke sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Aurora’s moans filled the room, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, her hands clutching the sheets as she surrendered to the sensation. Eren’s eyes were locked on her, his gaze intense, possessive, as he watched her come apart beneath him. “You feel so fucking good, baby,” he growled, his voice rough with lust. “This pussy’s mine, isn’t it? All fucking mine.”
“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she met his thrusts, her hips rocking against him. “All yours, Eren. Fuck, don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He grabbed her legs, folding them back until her knees were nearly at her ears, pressing her into the mattress as he pounded into her harder, faster. The angle was brutal, his cock hitting that spot deep inside her with every thrust, and Aurora’s moans turned to cries, her body trembling as she hurtled toward the edge. Eren’s key necklace dangled in her face, swaying with his movements, the cool metal brushing her lips as he leaned down, capturing her mouth in a deep, sloppy kiss. Their tongues tangled, saliva mixing as he fucked her relentlessly, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release.
“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he panted, his lips brushing hers as he spoke, his voice dripping with filthy promise. “Gonna cum all over my cock like a good girl. Fuck, I can feel how close you are, baby. Let go.”
Aurora’s orgasm hit like a tidal wave, her pussy clenching around him as pleasure ripped through her, her vision going white. She cried out, her nails digging into his back as her body shook, her release soaking his cock. The sensation pushed Eren over the edge, and he groaned, his hips stuttering as he came, spilling deep inside her with a final, shuddering thrust. “Fuck, Aurora,” he gasped, his voice raw as he collapsed against her, his forehead resting on hers as they both caught their breath.
For a moment, they stayed like that, tangled together on Jean’s bed, their bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of sex. Eren’s necklace rested against her chest, cool against her heated skin, and she smiled, her fingers tracing the lines of his face as she looked up at him. “You’re insane,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but laced with affection.
He chuckled, kissing her softly, his lips lingering on hers. “You love it,” he murmured, his hands stroking her thighs as he slowly pulled out, both of them wincing at the sensitivity. He grabbed his shirt, using it to gently clean her up before helping her fix her clothes, tugging her tube top back into place and smoothing down her skirt.
Aurora laughed, her cheeks flushed as she sat up, her legs shaky. “We’re gonna get caught,” she said, glancing at the door. “Jean’s gonna kill us if he finds out we fucked on his bed.”
Eren smirked, pulling on his jeans and tossing his boxers into a corner. “I’ll buy him a beer. He’ll get over it.” He leaned down, kissing her again, his hand cupping her face. “Worth it, though. You’re fucking incredible.”
She blushed, standing on wobbly legs as she adjusted her ponytail. “We should get back before someone notices we’re gone.”
He nodded, taking her hand and leading her to the door. The party was still raging outside, the music and laughter as loud as ever, and they slipped back into the crowd unnoticed, their absence unnoticed in the chaos. Aurora’s body was still humming, her skin tingling from Eren’s touch, and as they rejoined their friends, she couldn’t help but steal glances at him, her heart swelling with love and desire.
The night pulsed on, a wild, untamed rhythm that echoed the fire in their veins, and with Eren’s hand in hers, Aurora knew they’d burn brighter than the stars above.
a piece of me dies every time im reading a fic and taylor swift lyrics pop up😭 then i realize the description of the oc or “reader” are very white coded like OH! that’s not…
⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.
── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist
⊰– prev next–⊱
── 𝟐𝟐 | 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧
⟡ chapter word count: 3.7k
⟡ content warnings: blanket warnings
⟡ a/n: Heyyyyy, how ya'll doing? Anyway. Longish chapter to make up for my absence lmao, featuring as many people as I could cram there and also Eren because I missed him. I love love love writing his one sided beef with Niccolo. Its a little like this.
Niccolo, fresh off the boat, managing a restaurant, new ideals, and a girl who cries when eating his food: why is it looking at me like that
Eren, who has heard his name from reader one too many times:
Disclaimer, this is naut edited because I literally just finished writing it and I want it OUT! anyway, bon app the teeth
𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 distance when the tide rolls in, and the structure ridden harbor buzzes when you walk along it. It is impressive what a few months and a pack of hardworking soldiers will do to a beach; there are already a few docks scattered throughout, with more poles ready for the construction of new ones.
It's a little daunting how the future manages to sneak up on you even when the veil which obscures it has already parted for your eyes, allowing you to see the loom and tapestry in its entirety. But alas, it is here—or soon will be—-and you have no option but to move forward.
There are wooden pavilions built up on the edge of the water, constructed upon tiled floor and full of crates and barrels that have not yet been moved to a more permanent storage area. The smell of food gets stronger as you get closer, weaving through provisions and the men that carry them throughout.
The breeze wades through your hair, salty like the lunch you're about to have, fresh like your mood in the early day, ever changing like the tide of the sea. Sunlight glints off bottles of wine and seagulls circle nearby, surely eager for any scraps of Niccolo's cooking.
Your left foot kicks loose gravel as you approach the small congregation under one pavilion, where a table with freshly made dishes is already out. Connie and Mikasa shift as you arrive, opening up a space in between them for you to step into, and you gladly take it, craning your neck to finally see what Sasha has made a fuss about since morning.
"What the hell is this food?" you hear Connie ask. When you lift your gaze, you notice twin frowns on both his and Jean's face, eyes filled with apprehension. Mikasa is impassive as always, now with a pink cardigan to compliment her red scarf, while both Armin and Sasha look like Christmas came early—one more than the other.
"Is this even edible?" Jean murmurs to your far left.
It is then that you cross eyes with Yelena, who stands on the other side of the table, hands behind her back, poised like some sort of ringmaster getting ready to present the show. Her own eyes depict no malice; there is only a lazy suggestion of something beneath, but neither her nor you will make any attempt to uncover it.
"Smells fishy," Mikasa says. She grimaces a little when she realizes she's just repeated your earlier quip, even after not finding it funny. You chuckle, casting your eyes to the food once again. "Jokes aside, it really does," you say. "Can't see any fish, though."
"You've never had seafood?" Yelena asks. It's a dumb question to ask people who've never come into contact with the ocean before, but maybe that's just your irritated side talking. There's only so much of her you can tolerate before her voice starts getting grating and every little thing she does is put under a microscope for you to judge. Not that you'd ever externalize it—you are far too terrified of her to do that.
"Niccolo's a master of Marleyan cooking," she continues, pointing to him with a flourish. He is with his back to your group, too busy swirling one of the giant pots that sit atop a brick stove.
Even without him turning around, you can perceive the irritation that oozes out of him, surely born out of having to serve people he's been told his entire life are inferior. The spread in the table looks mouth weathering though—lobster, black mussels, scallops and shrimp, pasta with some sort of meat and vegetable on top, even a rice dish with mussels and shrimp that reminds you of paella—so you can't fault Sasha for excitedly digging in even as Niccolo complains.
"Jerks," you hear him mumble. "If you don't like it, don't eat. Eldians like you don't—"
The lobster closest to you is ripped away by Sasha's hands as she excitedly digs in, taking Niccolo's advice to heart. Don't like, don't eat? It seems she likes it, so she will eat it. Jean and Connie—and to a certain degree Mikasa and Armin too—recoil when she bites it for the first time, eyes wide at the, in their eyes, unseemly ocean creature.
You can pinpoint the exact moment the flavor of lobster hits her tongue by the way her eyes widen and start to ear up, which would be kind of funny were it not for the implications.
"So good!" she exclaims, her empty hand already reaching forward for another one. Connie grabs another lobster too when he sees her pounce on the plate, not one to be left behind.
"Hey!" he complains, "No fair, Sasha!"
Sasha, on the other hand, pays him no mind. "Niccolo!" she says as more tears come out of her eyes. "You're a food genius!"
Niccolo, who by this point has turned around to face you, is struck by either the absurdity or earnestness—or both—of her words. Among Sasha's rears, he only manages a half hearted insult.
"Stop—" he stutters, "—stop eating like a pig!"
Everyone is eating now. Connie has followed Sasha's lead with the lobster, while Jean examines one of the scallops closely before pouring its contents into his mouth. Mikasa materializes a small bowl out of nowhere and fills it with a few bites of one of the pastas, although she has yet to try it, instead choosing to stare at it with a quizzical brow. Armin's forehead creases when he tries one of the mussels, both the flavor and texture foreign to him.
"I've never had anything like this," Sasha sobs, encapsulating all of the Scout's feelings into a single line.
The tips of Niccolo's ears tinge pink as he fights for something so day. In all the time you've been around not once have his eyes slipped from Sasha—but to be fair, she was the one being enthusiastically loud about his food.
He turns around, returning to the metal pots to continue with the stirring, although you suspect it is simply an excuse to hide the ever growing blush that colors his face. "Theres plenty, so take your time," he grumbles.
You take it as your cue to dig in, reaching for one of the spoons strewn about, scooping a little of the rice based dish into an individual bowl. It's the one that most closely resembles something you've eaten before, so you take it as a safe bet to try first. It is then you realize Sasha was not overreacting.
There is something about Niccolo's food, that, despite being fresh and made from the ocean, feels as warm as an autumn hearth. You think then that it is clear when something is made of passion and love—not for the diner guests, not when there is still far too much animosity for that, but rather for the art itself.
"This is really good," you murmur between bites. Mikasa nods at your side, almost done with her pasta. You copy her and try that next, and the flavor does nothing to let you down.
A few minutes pass by in which all of you are completely quiet, a stark contrast to mornings and evenings at the canteen, where talking is much more important than eating. Here though, you feel as if the notion of opening your mouth for something that is not eating to be something sacrilegious in the eyes of its creator.
You doubt Niccolo cares enough to chide you for leaving leftovers, but the nature of the food makes it impossible to do so. Sasha notices the hesitance in your face when you debate asking for seconds—you still haven't tried the lobster but it is all but gone from the plates upon the striped blue-white tablecloth.
In the blur that is her figure, she manages to snatch your wrist and haul you to the other side where Niccolo stands, busy stirring the pot. You feel Yelena's gaze on the back of your neck, easy to distinguish for its unique sharpness and the fact that you're already used to it, but she doesn't move to intercept or otherwise intervene.
"Can we have seconds?" she all but requests, the only evidence of her earlier bliss being the very faint tear marks on her face.
Niccolo is taken aback for a second, not having anticipated she would approach him so boldly. His eyes flit to you, faint recognition in them. "...sure," he says, averting his gaze as quickly as soon as it crosses with Sasha's again.
There is no more cooked lobster so you instead take the bowl of soup Niccolo begrudgingly pours you. You thank him with less energy than the girl at your side, but you doubt there is little you can do to elicit offense from him, and so he pays no mind. The vapor it emits is sweeter than the one that was left on the table, and the taste is different too—it still has that freshness in the shrimp, but there is also a light sweetness that contrasts the whole thing.
"Woah!" Sasha exclaims. "This one is really good too!"
Heat begins to color Niccolo's ears again, as he fumbles for a reply.
"Well, obviously," is what he settles on, although the cockiness that statement would require is instead mostly replaced by fluster.
"As I said," comes a voice behind you, "there are few people with Niccolo's skill when it comes to Marleyan cuisine."
Yelena halts to a stop beside you, gingerly taking the portion Niccolo offers her. "Although I have to say, this tastes slightly different from the traditional recipe. As far as I know, of course."
Niccolo scratches the back of his neck, flustered still. "I had to substitute some ingredients," he says. "There is not a lot of variety on this Devil's Island."
You're a little glad it's just you and Sasha who hear his comment. You don't particularly care, feeling more like a spectator than a resident of Paradis, and Sasha is way too into his food to complain about his figures of speech. Then again, there are far worse people who have called you far worse things, all relating to your supposed Eldian heritage.
A sharp sting erupts in the back of your head, closer to your nape than the crown of it. To distract yourself you concentrate on the brew, its texture, its flavors, the way some hit immediately while others linger at the back of your throat long after you swallow.
"There's elderberry in this," Sasha says to you conspiratorially when she notices your furrowed brow. "I'd never had it with fish before, just bread. Great idea, Niccolo!" she says to him, shooting him an eager thumbs up.
His gaze averts again, and you suspect the only reason he hasn't chased you away is the lack of Sasha's earlier tears. "Shut up," he says again, a slight bite in his tone. "And it's not because you gave it to me," he addresses you directly for the first time. "I was raised to not waste anything, unlike you island devils."
You shrug, his jab gliding over you like one of the seagulls overhead. "Glad it could be of use," you say.
Yelena swirls her bowl. "Elderberry?" she asks.
"It was an elderberry syrup," Niccolo clarifies. "There wasn't a lot of sugar to work with, so I used what I had at hand. So, elderberry syrup," he gestures to the steaming pot.
"Hm. How peculiar." Yelena turns to you. "And you said you made this?"
Your fingers twitch, your heart still beating rashly under her piercing eyes. Even when there is no ulterior meaning behind her words, you can feel your anxiety spike under your skin. It's her very presence that puts you on edge—her actions just add onto it.
"Its not that hard," you say instead, raring to leave now that the spotlight is on you. "Just honey, water, berries, and some kind of powder."
"Arrowroot," Sasha interjects in between bites. "It's arrowroot powder. Works for every kind of fruit syrup, even elderberry. And these," she says, referring to the berries with which the syrup is made, "can be made into jam too. Back at my village there was even a man who used to make wine out of those."
"Interesting," Yelena drawls. "There is much to learn about the island's customs, after all. Don't you think, Y/n?"
The bowl you are holding has a slight divot at the bottom, which you know because you've been tracing it non stop since Yelena started talking. It's half empty now—you aren't sure you can stomach any more food while under her thumb. "Sure," you say. Yelena starts to talk again, but you beat her to the punch.
"Could I have some of this to go?" you say.
Is that even a thing here? you ask yourself as an afterthought. Food to go?
It doesn't matter anyway. Your priority right now has shifted to getting as far away from Yelena as possible, strange vocabulary be damned.
Niccolo frowns, earlier fluster long forgotten. "It'll spoil if you don't store it properly—"
"Oh!" Sasha interrupts, a glint of something in her eyes. "I don't think it's for her, though. Is it?"
You swallow, something sweeter than guilt but more absinthic than satisfaction emanating from your guts as if it was bile. "It's not," you confirm after a beat punctuated by the waves. "There's—you know, the security concerns."
You shrug for the umpteenth time, like every time you do so it can somehow shrink the scope of your feelings. Or not your feelings per se, but the importance with which you carry those deep within your innards, crushed into a small enough ball so that no one may hurt you with them. They're engraved in your very bones, and yet so far away from your reach. After all, you could use them too.
It doesn't matter that you can't say his name, nor that you don't really know (or want to know) why. It doesn't matter that you feel an urge to defend yourself every time you engage with him, nor that understanding turns to shame when you relish in the opportunity of it.
So you shrug, hoping to convey a nonexistent indifference between you and the subject of your prophecies. Like that isn't an intimate enough link.
"It is a shame we cannot talk to him," Yelena drones, unaware of your inner writhing, amplified by the notion of that crushed ball coming to light. "But as long as the Volunteers can be of assistance to you, it doesn't matter at all."
A wave of indignity suddenly washes over you at her words. You drape it over you, glad to have something to distract you from your earlier thoughts, and take hold of it as it crashes against you.
It threatens to bubble out like one of Niccolo's pots, which he hurries to tend after haphazardly pointing out food you could grab. You pile whatever looks appetizing onto a plate—which, to be fair, is almost everything—and book it out of there before Yelena strings you along for another half hearted conversation.
It occurs to you halfway to the innards of the port that you don't actually know where Eren is being kept, and you look around, somehow hoping that now that your thoughts have named him, he'll appear out of thin air. You have half a mind to trip on purpose, see if that manages to summon him to you.
You decide it would only make you look stupid, so you abandon the idea as quickly as it crosses your mind.
The buildings don't look like they hold him inside, so you discard them after wandering around some. He is obviously not on the port, so you don't even try there, and you don't think he was transferred on the little time it took you to eat.
You give up searching seriously after a while, and strongly consider eating the food yourself. If it weren't for the fact that Sasha has probably already chirped to her friends about your errand, you would. Yelena doesn't do empty praise; Niccolo's food is just that good.
You sigh. There are times you miss the convenience of the modern world, how you could get ahold of someone with just a text. You snort at the mental image of texting Eren. He'd be a dry texter, for sure. Maybe a few stickers here and there. And technically, if the end of the last movie is canon to this universe, you also know a smidge about what he would be like.
While you are spaced out, your feet lead you to a small hollow on the side of a cliff. Absent-mindedly, you note it is the same one you had rushed to on your first night at the island, when there had been something too stinging to bear.
Your brows furrow. The first half of that night is, understandably, a little fuzzy in your memories, so you don't remember what triggered your panic in the first place. Was it a dream you had? There is not much you retain from your sleep, but then maybe—
"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to sit?" questions a voice to your right.
Eren sits, back to the rocky wall, hair coming and going with the ocean spray that crashes on the beach beneath you. You blink, not expecting his voice or... well, him, really.
"I brought you food," you say in lieu of conversation.
"Oh," he says when you take a seat next to him, holding him the handkerchief covered plate. "Thanks," he says, taking a bite. "What's this?"
"Shrimp with rice," you answer. "Don't know what it's called though, but it's supposed to be Marleyan. Oh, and there are mussels in there too," you point them out.
Eren freezes midbite. "...Huh."
You hum. He's got a bit of rice on the side of his lip, and now that you've told him of the food's origin he's looking at it more closely, slight furrow in his brow.
His eyes are more blue than green today, you notice, mostly because of the sea, but you'd argue that the unobstructed sky also plays a part. They're grey on days when it is overcast—a little more subdued, a little less alive, like he is peering through the curtains to backstage from where the limelight hits and onto the script hidden beneath the props.
But today the mist in his gaze is gone—and so is half his plate. The grain of rice next to his lips is still there though. Not that it matters.
"They're all by the pavilions," you say after a while, ripping your eyes from his profile and onto the sea, which does nothing but remind you more of his eyes. "Niccolo made a lot of dishes for us to try," you continue. "Sasha was all over the moon when she saw the spread. It was nice."
Eren keeps silent for a moment, prompting you to look at him. He's paused his eating again, although something in his face tells you it's not about the food. What is it really about then? Well, you can't say.
"It could be better," he murmurs after a beat. "Bit salty."
You shrug. "Maybe."
The conversation—if it could even be called that—ends again and you go back to silence. You draw your legs closer to yourself, knees coming up to support your head. When you close your eyes, the cawing of seagulls dances through your ears, small dots of saltwater prickles your skin.
Silences with Eren aren't like the ones with Zeke; those are a bit thorny, tense at times. Yelena's are worse. Even the ones back with Gabi were a little weird, although that was more your fault than hers. There were times where you saw the child soldier, the scarred survivor.
But Eren knows and you know and the silence you share is less the absence of words and more a space its composition you both are already intimately familiar with.
"Did you like it?" Eren asks.
"Hm?" you lift your head from where it rests on your knees.
"The food," he clarifies. "Did you like it?"
You hum an affirmative. "It was very good. There was soup too, but I didn't bring any. Sorry."
He shrugs, giving it no importance. "It's fine. I wouldn't have gotten any if it weren't for you anyway."
"I'm sure someone would've brought you some," you say, albeit hesitant. Did they? You can't remember.
Eren speaks up again. "I'm just surprised the guy agreed to cook for us."
"Eh," you say, extending your legs when your circulation begins to stammer. "We're making progress. You weren't there for much of the meetings, but at least they are receptive. Or else this whole harbor wouldn't exist. I mean," you let your head fall against the rock wall, "its not perfect or anything, but at least we are kinda getting along."
It's not the first time you have this conversation with Eren, nor would it be the last. But if all that stands between you and the lives of eighty percent of the population is the occasional reassurance then you'd gladly give Eren hop-filled words to hang on from.
He sets his dish aside, empty. You fight back a grin. For all his grumbles about Niccolo, he can't deny the food he makes is especially good. Or maybe not, you reconsider. He does deny it, but at the end there are no crumbs left.
"Did you like it?" you ask, just to tease. Eren grumbles, pink staining his ears while he does everything but say yes. You chuckle at this, which only makes him complain more.
"It was fine," he finally admits, looking away.
And there's the silence again.
There are a million things you could talk about. The letter you intend on sending Zeke, the allies you know are just beyond the sea, one of them making their first appearance relatively soon. His convoluted ideas of the future or your own, what to expect from Yelena or the Volunteers or the government.
But for now you are content enough to let it go, to enjoy this small bubble of peacefulness while you are able to do so.
JACK AS A HUSBAND HEADCANONS PLEASEEEEEE 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 PLEASEEEEEE AAAAHHHHHH 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅
He’s not always home, but when he is, it’s everything.
Jack was never built for ordinary domesticity.
but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t long for it in his own way. His schedule is chaos. His body is exhausted. His mind is constantly racing with political calculations, historical footnotes, secret fears of dying young. But when he’s home—really home—he walks straight into the kitchen in his shirtsleeves, loosens his tie, and wraps his arms around you from behind. A kiss to your neck. A whispered, “Hi, sweetheart.” A sigh like you’re his harbor.
He has moods—sharp, fast, and fleeting but he never means to be cruel.
Jack can go cold in a second. Not out of malice, but because he shuts down when he’s stressed. He’ll raise his voice, make a cutting remark, then regret it instantly. His apology is quiet, but deeply sincere—a hand on your knee, a murmur of “I didn’t mean that, kid” and a lingering kiss to your shoulder while you pretend you’re still mad.
He hates conflict with you.
Hates it. It gnaws at him all day if you’re upset. He’ll call from a campaign stop just to say, “Did I lose you today?” If you say yes, he’s on the next plane home.
Jack is a talker. At night, in the car, in bed.
No one talks like Jack Kennedy. The speeches are only a sliver of it. With you, he’s all low-voiced murmurs in the dark, spinning stories from college, the war, Boston winters, what he’d do if he had more time. Sometimes it feels like he’s trying to say everything in case he doesn’t wake up tomorrow. Late-night drives are his favorite. You’ll be half-asleep with your head on his shoulder and he’ll say, “I think I was supposed to die at sea.” And then, “But I didn’t. Because you weren’t there yet.”
He remembers everything about you.
Jack notices things. He remembers how you take your tea. The way you cross your ankles when you’re trying not to cry. The name of the girl you hated in boarding school. He has too many women in his past, but he can quote your college essay by heart. He sees you. Always. When he’s overseas, he mails you small things: a hotel matchbook, a piece of paper with your name written over and over in his handwriting, a book with your favorite passage underlined. The back says “Read this and think of me.”
He’s flirtatious, but never bored.
Jack flirts with everyone. The waiter, your mother, the damn dog. But he’s never bored of you. You’re the one who knows his scars, his spine, his politics, and his breakfast order. He looks at you across a crowded room like you’re still 21 and he’s trying to get your number. He doesn’t just want you to love him—he wants to impress you. He wants to make you laugh. You’re the only one he ever really wanted to keep.
He loves with his whole soul, not just his Heart.
Jack is scared to love as deeply as he does, but he can’t help it. It’s reckless. It’s headfirst. It’s desperate in quiet moments. He loves you with the urgency of a man who knows he might not live long. When he hugs you, his arms stay wrapped around you for just one second longer. When you sleep next to him, he holds your hand under the sheets. When he’s sick, he only wants you. He doesn’t say it often—“I love you”—but he means it when he does. It’s usually when you least expect it. After an argument. After a silence. At 2 a.m., curled together on the couch while the TV plays snow. He’ll whisper it, then say it again, just in case.
He loves your babies—but he doesn’t always know how to say it.
He is awed by fatherhood. Overwhelmed by it. Sometimes distant with it. But when he picks up your child—whether newborn or toddler or teenager—he becomes soft. He cradles them like glass. He jokes with them like they’re small adults. He doesn’t miss milestones out of indifference; it kills him when he does. When they say “Dada,” he goes silent. When they fall asleep on him, he doesn’t move for hours. When they cry for Mama, he gives them back—but looks at you like you’re the whole universe.
He’ll never stop trying to prove himself to you.
Even after years of marriage. Even after mistakes. Even after heartbreak. Jack is always trying to be better for you. To make you proud. He asks what book you’re reading so he can read it too. He makes you coffee the exact way you like it, even when you’re fighting. He’ll never admit it, but he wants you to think he’s brilliant. That he’s strong. That you didn’t make a mistake choosing him. Even when he’s dying, he’s still trying to be your Jack.
He needs your steadiness more than anyone else’s love.
You are his axis. The one who pulls him back to Earth. He needs your quiet voice in the morning, your hand squeezing his before a debate, your lipstick on his handkerchief in the breast pocket. When he feels like he’s burning alive, you are the one thing that keeps him from disintegrating. He’s not perfect—but he’s yours. And when he slips his ring back on after a shower, he kisses it.
This is the bs im seeing on fb... the jokes write themselves.
Unlikely, considering the types of people usually here and in my circle of Tumblr. If you even remotely feel like Charlie Kirk is comparable to any of these men, please fuck off.
jfk would’ve been so down bad in the most repressed, annoying way ever as a divorced man. he would be the type to nod and smile, ever so polite, when you tell him you’re engaged to someone new. he’d take a casual look at your bejeweled finger, give a strained nod of approval, and say the fellow did alright with the ring, but also drop some charged comment that leaves you reeling. questioning if he really said what you think he said.
he would subtly remind you that no one will ever know you as intimately as he does, certainly not the man whose name he pretends not to remember; he was the president of the united states. nothing gets past him.
on the rare occasion that your fiancé finds himself in your ex husband’s presence and talks about you like he knows you, jack gets ticked off: his jaw clenches, and he begins toying around with his glass like he’s already tired of hearing the guy’s voice. he even huffs at some point like a rankled horse, so unlike the sensible man that he has so carefully crafted himself as, though he covers it up with a smile that he doesn’t think looks sharp enough to cut and a swift swig of his drink.
the entire ordeal is torturous. and of course, jack can’t help himself. there’s a part of him that believes no one else should know you the way he does. no one ever could. it’s just plain common sense, not jealousy from his part per se. and when your beau, as jack amusedly calls him, speaks like his knowledge of you is simply and truly unassailable - well, jack gets just a little cruel in his charm, too polite to be considered decent, because this new man of yours can’t know every inch, and it’s audacious to even presume he does.
and it’s only after you’re divorced that he makes his knowledge of you more notable than ever. he brings up little facts about you, things you forgot you’d ever told him, details you wouldn’t have ever believed he remembered, like it’s nothing. he brings them up in the middle of a dinner, or a rare get-together of some kind, or when you’re handing off the kids, casually so and sporadically.
you never realized he’d paid that much attention to you. that’d been part of the problem.
there’s a late afternoon when you’re picking up the kids from his place. midsummer has already drifted on by, and you’ve been planning to take them to the italian coast for months, but not without them spending the first half or so of summer with their father first.
they’ve packed their most valuable necessities to get themselves through the next few weeks, and you’re all ready to go. you’re relieved to have gotten out clean until your youngest groans that they left a backpack inside, possibly by the staircase. your shoulders drop. you consider sending one of the older kids, or the chauffeur, but you’ve never been the detached kind, even now. it’s just jack, you remind yourself. so you go.
you walk up the steps to jack’s house and knock on his door once again, sighing to let out the odd, meddlesome nerves swirling around in your chest. he opens the door, visibly bemused to see you back and alone at that, but welcomes you back in with ease, listens while you ramble about a backpack and offer too many apologies for comfort. by the third apology, you spot the backpack exactly where it should be - by the staircase - and pluck it off the third step. aha! you give him a quick smile, a little bashful, and try to book it out of there without seeming obvious, but he notices. obviously. it’s jack.
the manner in which you speed right past him and apologize one more time like some harried stranger and not his wife - ex wife - of sixteen years chafes at him. so before you leave, jack says your name. that’s enough to stop you. and since he didn’t get the chance before what with the kids and the commotion, he stirs up small talk neither of you are any good at. you both bumble through the motions before he relates a rosy, whimsical blur about the last month and a half he spent with the children, something familiar, more or less safe, to enthrall you with that kindles a real smile out of you. a laugh even.
and when your guard drops, just a little, he shifts slightly closer, his hands inside his pockets, finally deigning to ask about the trip - how long it’s gonna last, where exactly on the coast you’re all gonna be sailing through. he asks you minuscule details, stuff he already knows because he either heard it from you on a phone call or already prodded it out of the kids, until he asks with a too-casual air of nonchalance if he’s gonna be there.
and that’s the thing about jack. technically, he’s being charming. technically, he’s behaving. but despite having no grounds to call him out, you know better.
you tilt your head at him, giving him a look, a warning, silently pleading him not to go there. you reach for the doorknob, ready to turn away from him, but that just won’t do. not to him.
before you know it, in just a fraction of a second, he’s right there, merely inches away. what, can’t ask about your friend? the last word drops with that dry sarcasm of his, accompanied with an ounce of petulance that is so uncharacteristic of the man you know that you almost laugh. it’s as if he can barely stand to toe the line any longer.
something real though, finally.
three years have passed since the divorce papers were signed, and he’s still not completely used to toeing anything with you. it doesn’t help that this might be the first time in a while that you’ve both been alone long enough for him to arrive at that particular realization. the polite smiles, the casual bordering on intimately pointed comments, the clenched jaw, the queasy feeling in his stomach - they’ve all been building up to this moment.
your eyes flick upward, cautiously. one thing is for sure: he’s gotten bolder, much bolder, now that he’s not tied down to you. that figures. he’s already scanning your face with his gaze, a goading spark beneath that infuriating statesman polish, edging you towards the echo of something ancient and raw and starved.
and you’re just frozen there; one hand still on the doorknob, the other slightly raised, like you forgot what you were about to do. that pull, you haven’t felt it in so long - you haven’t let yourself feel it.
a part of you feared it had been plunked into weakness and eventual death by all the disappointments, bouts of loaded silences, betrayals, and the heated moments where all the anger and frustration began crackling into an intoxicating, intense intimacy. the kind that left you both breathless and blistered at the end. somewhat empty too. it became unmanageable. late-night arguments and furiously whispered accusations would dissolve into breathless kisses and searing touches; and he started it. he always started it. and for that reason, you always gave in. the proof of still being wanted was too much of a sore relief to give up, but not without a cost.
it was as if all the fury, all the hurt, all the sacrifice on both your ends had coalesced and catapulted into a series of raw, desperate moments, knowing bitterly that the end was only a corner away.
this moment now is nothing like those, but your nerve endings crackle just the same. he’s so close now, unbearably close, and you can’t think. your nerves are past swirling now, they’re scrambling. you only utter his name through a small, weary sigh and murmur something about how impossible he’s being, intending to sound stern, but it comes out softly instead. somewhat fond and simultaneously annoyed in that familiar way of yours that has always left him, admittedly, feeling slightly off-balance. no one says his name like that. no one has earned it like you have.
past the goading spark though, there’s something quietly familiar in his gaze, something you can’t ignore. you’ve missed it. it’s the way he used to look at you in hushed moments like these when the plain, natural drunkenness of summer, of time, and of you fell upon him like a drowsy, lovesick veil all at once. you felt the most beautiful then, loved too, when he looked at you like that.
his lashes flicker as he takes you in piece by piece, letting himself catalogue every slight difference that time has tacked onto you since the divorce now that he has you so up close; the longer, more casual fall of your hair against your collarbone, some fine lines that crease against the sides of your eyes, the different scent that another man basks in. well, shame, he’s the one basking in it now.
there’s something else too. in the years after, a certain steadiness has settled into your posture that wasn’t there before, definitely not in those last years. another type of confidence that settles nicely in the bones with age and wisdom. after a divorce.
you’ve found your footing. and you’ve found it without him. it’s not like he resents it, really. in fact, he respects it, but his stomach twists oddly all the same, especially when you still say his name like that. soft and worn-in. a memory you still savor past its expired bitterness.
as for jack, you notice a looseness to him that wasn’t there before. even when he wasn’t in front of the cameras, he always felt on. but now he has no reason to be. for the first time in a long time, possibly ever, he has the space to breathe and its effect is noticeable. he looks impossibly younger, more vulnerable; his hair is unkempt, the way you always liked it, and he’s let it grow out - the politician haircut long gone. your fingers ache to reach upwards, but you don’t give in. it physically hurts not to, and you wonder if he feels the same with those hands of his safely tucked away. he must.
his eyes haven’t left you. the sensation leaves you dizzy with how fresh it feels, his green-blue focus. the unnameable warmth behind his eyes trickling down onto you, lulling you out of your safe spot. jack’s unabashed gaze whenever he’d look at you instead of looking through you, it always left you somewhat breathless, a bit guileless. evidently, that hasn’t changed. but there’s also a part of you that hates what he can do to you with just a flicker of his gaze. even now.
jack shifts and you catch it just then. something you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t shifted, just slightly, for you to catch a whiff of his cologne. the cologne you picked out for him ages ago: at some point seven years into your marriage when things had finally reached an idyllic point, and before it all went irreparably south, of course. he hasn’t stopped wearing it.
you swallow as your gaze dips down, tracing - not at the center - but only the edge of his mouth, the corner that always twitches before he’s about to smile. not quite damning, but damning enough. and he catches it. his eyes flicker with a hint of knowing satisfaction, like he’s won a game you didn’t even know you were playing, a prize he didn’t know he still wanted. it’s only been five ridiculous minutes, and somehow his foot is already inside the door. perhaps, it never really left.
he leans in even more now, one step forward and then inching his body closer, slow and sure as ever, closer than he’s been in a long, long time, but with his hands still tucked carefully inside his pockets because he wouldn’t get close enough to touch you, really touch you. it’s his turn to torture you now and you accept it like you always have.
still, his barely-there stubble lightly grazes your cheek as he dips low and whispers in your ear with that warm, steady lilt of his that makes his words burn low in your stomach, give the beau a nice hello for me. he leans back slowly, gaze flickering down to your lips before shrugging loosely, his smirk growing. you feel the ghost of his lips as he says, not too nice, of course.
Your heart violently pounded in your chest, glossy eyes glued on Eren’s face as he fucked into you relentlessly, pulling back all the way and slamming back in until his whole cock disappeared into your wetness, the squelching sound of your dripping cunt filling up the small basement.
“Ah-fuck..Eren!” You cried out, your hand flying up to press against his stomach in an attempt to slow him down but the long haired man was quick to grab your wrist which forced him to glance at your face. It made him sick how undeniably attracted he was to you, especially right now with how turned on he was by your fucked our face with tears built up in your big, pretty brown eyes, and the way you said his name, sweet and reverent, like it meant something holy.
Eren couldn’t bare it, you had an effect on him despite how much he despised you, your people and what you represented as a whole. He groaned, eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed your waist and flipped your around, forcing you into a deep arch, your ass perked up in the air, nice and round for him.
You tried to turn your head to look at him but you couldn’t even get a glance in that his huge hand pressed your head down into the mattress before he shoved his dick back inside you, knocking the wind out of you. You yelped, a cry caught in your throat because of how rough he was being. The nasty sound of his pelvis slamming against your ass mixed with your slutty moans had Eren lose any type of reasoning, which frankly, he had lost the moment he decided to fuck a marleyan. All that was a left was pure hunger and lust.
Still, he couldn’t lose himself too much, his hand raised and came down hard on your ass, watching the ripple of your ass. He instantly felt your greedy pussy clench around him but at the same time you whimpered against the pillow. He did it again and again until your legs were shaking and you were begging him to slow down but your desperate pleas were only music to his ears.
Eren grabbed your arms and pulled you backwards so your back was against his, his hand wrapped around your neck as he kept abusing your poor cunt “Mhmm..p-please I can’t!” Your eyes rolled back into your skull, feeling like Eren was trying to split you open with the way his thick ass dick was damn near trying to go past your cervix.
“you can..fuck- ‘cause this the only thing you’re good for” he whispered in your ear, reminding you that this was only sex as if the way he was doing you right now wasn’t clear enough. You hated Eren as much as he hated you, but right now, your brain had been turned into mush and the only thing you were worried about was to get that nut in.
“I-I’m close..so close!” Your words came out slurred and desperate just like he wanted. Eren debated on letting you cum or not but he decided this will be the first and only grace he would give someone like you, so he kept up the same pace until he felt your cunt clenching hard around him again, your legs shaking as you reached your climax. Eren let go of you, letting your exhausted body fall onto the mattress, spilling all over your ass.
The last thing you saw before you fell asleep was Eren grabbing his clothes off the ground.
꒰ forbidden love with a southern boy sounds fun. a pastor for a father, and living in a small town with god-fearing, gossipy folk was not. ꒱
🫧 𐀔 . . . 16.8k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, set in 95’, farmer!eren + bluecollar!eren, domesticity, established relationship, talks of religion, small mention of abuse and alcoholism, forbidden love, sneaking around, age difference + time skip, lotssss of arguments, oral sex ꒰ f + m ꒱, quiet sex (they try ;3), fingering, spanking, lots of kisses, eren’s rlly affectionate, foreplay, rough sex, size difference, spitting in mouth vv briefly, sub/dom dynamic, lots of dirty talk, multiple orgasms + overstim. minors do not interact. reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated. ♡
꒰ theme songz + mocha’s note ! ꒱ . . . i’ll be by edwin mccain + movie by avenoir. . . i rlly like this plot, didn’t mean for it to be so long srry. but it’s good so ;) very notebook themed.
part two ? <3
getting married in secrecy was every family’s worst nightmare. the opportunity to see their creation speak soul-written vows to their lovers and part ways into unity. to laugh and dance together, snap photos, share cuisines and three-tiered intricately crafted fondant cake. helping their daughter pick out a dress, and their son a tux. all of those memories are delicate and forever cherished. to be ridden of that felt cruel. but, what family deserves that when they don’t accept who you're giving your love to? when they find the person you’re marrying selfish, undeserving of your love, and rude? those are the words people used to describe eren, your husband.
the sun beats down upon the quaint southern town of georgia, casting long shadows across the freshly cut lawns and pegasus-painted houses. a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the ancient oak trees lining the streets, their gnarled branches stretching towards the cloudless sky. in the heart of this idyllic community, nestled between the town square and the bustling main street, stands a modest yet stately residence. this is where you resided years ago with your father, the reverend pastor kain. the house exudes warmth and tradition, its wraparound porch adorned with rocking chairs and potted azaleas. a white picket fence encircles the property, symbolizing the tight-knit neighborhood and the values upheld within these walls.
inside, the air is thick with the scent of pot roast bubbling within the choral blue dutchoven and the soft hum of gospel hymns drifting from the living room in soft symphonies from your sickly mother. diagnosed with kidney failure yet always ensuring the three of you had the warmest days. the cool interior provides a welcome respite from the summer heat. the polished hardwood floors creak beneath your feet, leading you past a formal dining room with a sturdy oak table and matching chairs. family photographs line the mantel above the fireplace, capturing moments of joy and love.
your father's study lies at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. through the crack, you catch a glimpse of his desk, cluttered with stacks of paperwork, sermons, and bibles. the faint aroma of pipe tobacco wafts out, mingling with the musty smell of aged books. despite the comforting atmosphere, an undercurrent of tension hangs in the air, a palpable reminder of the forbidden nature of your love and the stern disapproval of your father, the man of god who once guided you with unwavering devotion.
you’ll never forget the intensity of your heart racing as you held eren’s hand within your own and stood before your father proclaiming your love. the look of disappointment on his face with furrowed brows, smile lines deep as he frowned and stared unwavering. the stern posture he’d taken by leaning up in his chair and hearing the nonsense coming from both of you. the bickering between him and eren while he held your hand the entire time, silently telling you he’d protect you while you shut out the aggressive sound of your father’s voice.
your love blossomed in stolen moments, snatched between the cracks of duty and expectation. in the hushed whispers of late-night phone calls, the furtive glances exchanged across crowded rooms, and the fleeting touches that set your skin ablaze with longing. the two of you would meet in secret, hidden away from prying eyes and ignorant tongues. in the shadows of the park, where the crickets sang their serenade and the stars twinkled overhead. or in the cozy confines of his pickup truck, parked along lonely stretches of highway, miles from home.
there, in those intimate spaces, you’d lose yourselves in each other. lips meeting in passionate kisses, hands roaming freely, exploring the curves and contours of your bodies. you’d talk with him for hours, sharing hopes and fears, dreaming of a future where you wouldn’t have to hide your love.
you met on a warm evening on your way to the farmers market, finding him churning butter with broad muscles, naked from his upper body and inked out over his neck and dominant forearm. there’s a slit in his right eyebrow that also held a piercing. slightly wavy brown hair pulled into a bun with baby blue overalls clinging to his skin.
when he locked eyes with you while you pushed a cute green grocery cart, your heart immediately bloomed. those slanted grayish-green eyes with long, brown lashes of his stealing your strength. his movie star smile with a toothpick lodged between his teeth as he finally caught your gaze. the sun shone down on him, casting a golden glow on his tanned skin and ricocheting off the silver dog tag around his neck making him look even more attractive.
the man gave you a wink before returning to his task, a sly smile playing on his lips. his arms flexed as he churned a bit harder, obviously showing off now that he knew he had your full attention. shyly, you pull your eyes away from him and pretend you don’t notice him staring as you inspect the vegetables before you. once he had finished, he wiped his hands off on a cloth and strode over to you, his overalls hanging from his hips now after he popped them free in front of you, sweat clinging to his skin. he stood in front of you, a cocky smile plastered on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest, a few beauty marks littered across his skin.
he waited for a moment before speaking up, his voice low. “you know, you’re not very good at pretending you don’t notice me.” he chuckled as he spoke. “i can see you stealin’ glances at me from the corner of your eye.”
goddamn, you nearly short circuit from hearing his voice. it’s deep and slightly raspy. the smell of him is almost natural and sweet. you caught a whiff of apple. or maybe butter given he’d been working on it for the past three hours.
“and if i was?”
eren’s smirk widened at your snarky response. he took a step closer to you, his body now mere inches away from yours as he looked down at you, tilting his head slightly. “then i’d say you have a thing for hot and sweaty country boys.”
“yuck, that was so corny,” you giggle in his face.
he rubbed his forehead with his palm, feigning disappointment at your response, but he was secretly enjoying the playful banter between the two of you. “mhm, yeah. it was, wasn’t it? sorry, i’m not good with talkin’ to pretty girls.”
you hum. “mhm, i bet you say that to all the girls. it’s a small town, and you’re attractive. i hear lies.”
“y’know, a liar doesn’t usually apologize for his bad pickup lines. unless . . . ” his voice was a low, sultry murmur now, and his eyes held an intensity that made you feel as if he was peering into your soul. the heat from his body felt like it was seeping into your own, and the air around you seemed to crackle with electricity as he spoke. “he means it. and you aren't calling me a liar are you, darlin’?”
the way he looked at you made your heart thump hard in your chest, and the fact that he was so close made it difficult to think straight. there’s no doubt that this man was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, in real time at least.
“you’re staring awful hard, like what you see?”
“maybe i do.”
“only maybe?”
“i do,” you playfully roll your eyes.
“geez, w’na marry me already,” he jokes, and of course you laugh like a lovesick teen. “i like your laugh, it’s cute. teehee.”
listening to him mocking you made you gasp and lightly hit his arm. “stopp, i don’t sound like that!”
“do so,” he slowly licks his lips, scanning you from head to toe. “i’d like to get to know you, if you don’t mind.”
you nearly choked at the suggestion. me? he wants . . me? no way. “uh, you don’t even know me. didn’t even ask if i had a boyfriend.”
“are you tryin' to say you have a boyfriend?”
“no, i don’t. but, i'm not allowed to.”
a frown briefly tugged at his lips as he heard what you said, the meaning behind your words sinking in. not allowed to? “how come? strict parents? celibacy? . . nun?”
“okay, asshole,” you scoff.
eren throws his hands up in defense. “sorry, just honestly askin’.”
you began to fidget at the thought of telling him about it. what if he ran away because he wanted nothing to deal with it? he notices your reluctance, and almost says something to dismiss the conversation for your sake. “my father’s extremely religious, well known in this town, actually. pastor kain.”
“oh,” eren nods, understanding clearly now. he tried to be as considerate as possible, even though part of him didn’t care. if he wanted you, he’d have you. “so you’re the daughter. funny, me seeing you only now. he’s that strict he don’t let you come out or sum?”
“ ‘the daughter’. why do you say that as if i have some type of rumor about me going around?”
“no, no, it’s nothing too serious. maybe a little insensitive, but . . i’ve just heard people whispering about your family and whatnot. things like your father being up his own ass or you being a . . i’ll dial it down to prude ‘cause i find other shit said derogatory, and i'm sure untrue.”
pursing your lips, you hum at the things being spoken behind your back. it’s not surprising. “thank you for telling me that. i’m sure a lot of people have opinions about me and my family. my dad can be a bit of a hard ass. and i surely wouldn’t call myself a prude. just because my family is religious doesn’t necessarily make me feel the same.”
“you’re not christian?” he asks.
“no, not at all. i mean, i believe in something. i pray, i talk to someone, but i don’t consider them god. personally, i call them my fairy godmother,” you smile sweetly, thinking that sounded kind of silly. “sorry, that must sound childish.”
“it doesn’t, it’s cute,” he chuckles. “i feel the same. agnostic is the term for me. plus, i’m more of a spiritual person. crystals and shit.”
your brows raise. “wow, that’s rare to hear a man say that, at least here. it’s refreshing.”
"why's that? you not from here?"
"nah, me and my mother are from the city. philly. he ended up moving us here after getting the deed to his grandfather's house. we've been here since i was ten."
eren shifts where he stands, removing the hair tie from his hair that cascaded down to his shoulders. tucking a strand behind one of his ears and shoving his hands into his pockets. “so does he have you on lockdown for the summer?”
“pretty much. he’s got me set on studying for college. any other distraction in my path he throws a fit. i usually have free time whenever my mom needs something, like groceries for instance. i have friends and shit, i promise.”
eren rolls his tongue and plants another toothpick in his mouth, chewing on it and watching as you curiously observe. to do the honors, he answers before you ask. “cigarette addiction. tryna cut back.”
“makes sense.”
“how’s about we keep it a secret?"
his tone was firm yet determined as he spoke. he knew it wouldn’t be easy to keep a relationship a secret from the pastor, especially with how overprotective the man was of his daughter. but he was willing to do it, to give you a chance to be happy and not live the way your father demanded. life’s too short, and you’re young and pretty. the thought of sneaking around with you, being your dirty little secret, made his heart thump in excitement. he was never one to play by the rules anyway.
“you mean like . . sneak around?”
“yeah. with your permission, of course.”
for some reason, his intentions felt sexual. maybe he had heard the rumors and wanted to see what you were like and change that. you’re not a virgin, luckily the person who took it moved out of town therefore it remained a secret from everyone. he’s pretty to look at, nice on the eyes, fairly polite, and a flirt. but, you couldn’t put your finger on it. and if this was going to be a waste of your time, you surely didn’t want to risk your father finding out.
so, you decline. “i gotta go, i’m sorry. it was nice meeting you though.”
eren couldn’t help the slight grimace that appeared on his face when you extract your hand to give him a handshake. it felt so formal and . . cold. your dismissive tone and gesture made it seem like you were done, like you were giving up on the possibility of even interacting with him again. he wanted to question you further, but didn’t want to come off as pushy.
“yeah, same to you.”
while flashing a final smile, you push your cart around him to head for the check out counter.
“when can i see you again?!” he shouts across the open market, hands cuffed around his mouth so you hear him loud and clear.
“around!”
eren felt a small ache of disappointment at your vague response, but couldn’t help but smile at the frantic pace you left him at. he knew he’d see you again, he’d make sure of it. two weeks passed and the city’s fair was bustling with the townships' people. one they held every year right before halloween. you’d volunteer to help your mom with her candy apple stand, taking any opportunity not to be stuck home studying.
the county area was picturesque, a perfect example of the serene beauty of rural life. the fields stretched out as far as the eye could see, rolling hills dotted with occasional trees breaking up the endless stretches of greenery. cows and sheep could be seen grazing in the distance, their peaceful presence adding to the tranquility of the setting. the air was clean and crisp, carrying the scent of grass and wildflowers as the sun set into the night. the fair being held was a hive of activity. children running around laughing and excited chatter adding to the general din of the crowds. the smell of food wafted through the air, the scent of funnel cakes and other fried goods mingling with the underlying aroma of hay and dirt. bull rides and horse races occurring.
eren found himself wandering through the fair, his thoughts preoccupied as he looked around. he didn’t really feel like playing games or participating in activities right now, he just wanted to clear his mind. but as he strolled past the laughing crowds of people, he paused, noticing a familiar figure nearby. his heart skipped a beat as he recognized you, and a small jolt of excitement coursed through him. your dressed in dark blue low rise affliction jeans that were flared towards the bottom along with a matching vest top and black western boots. a plain black cowboy hat atop of your head. your hairstyle changed completely the last time he saw you. it’s longer, reaching the middle of your back in soft, curly bora bora braids. you looked beautiful. straight out of a dream. a magazine even.
the wind blows roughly, and from where he stood he could smell the gourmand of your perfume. he stopped only a few feet from you, shoving his hands in his pockets in an attempt to look casual. despite the outward appearance of coolness, his heart was beating fast against his chest, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness coursing through his veins. he hoped you’d be happy to see him again, but he also couldn’t shake the fear that you might reject him. . . again.
you were stationed at a small booth, an array of freshly made candy apples neatly lined up for sale. the aroma of sweet, sticky apples mixed with the sugary coating filled the air. a woman who stood beside you who stole your entire face, or more-like you stole hers, taking orders from customers, dipping each apple into the thick, red coating before handing it over with a smile. as he drew closer to you, he plastered a careless smile on his face, trying to appear nonchalant. he raised a hand in greeting, waving at you casually.
“hey, what a coincidence.”
catching his attention, the glint in your eyes reads more than your face does, discreetly giving flirty while your smile is faint. you’re stunned to see him, in fact. briefly eyeing your mother before speaking. “oh, hi! um. . . didn’t catch your name before.”
“oh, uh. it’s eren. yeager. eren yeager.”
he felt a slight flush of embarrassment as he said his name. he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to even introduce himself when he’d first met you. he’d been so eager to get to know you, to convince you to give him a chance, that he’d completely forgotten to mention his own name.
“right, how are you?”
“uh, good. yeah, i'm good.”
“are you here with family?”
“nah, i’m here with some friends. they’re wandering off somewhere,” he says. “are you? is your father here?”
“he isn’t, actually. i just volunteered to help my mom out with her stand!”
eren’s smile grew just a fraction bigger at your response. he was silently grateful to whatever divine entity was watching over him for keeping your father from being here. it gave him a chance to talk to you freely.
“is that so? so you’re not being watched over right now?”
“i’m twenty, i don’t need to be watched.”
“point taken,” he purses his lips, eyes trailing over to your mother who was clearly ear-hustling. eren decides to introduce himself. “how you doin’, ma’am. it’s a pleasure meeting you.”
“oh, hello!” your mother smiled back, turning her body fully to take in his sudden attention. she’s just a smaller version of you, same pretty face now slowly wrinkling with time. gray kinky curly hair that grazes her shoulders. she’s dressed in a long navy blue dress painted with yellow daises, a white apron draped around her neck. she smiles at eren’s charming demeanor. “are you a friend of my daughter's?”
he gave a small nod. "yes, that's right.”
you could tell your mother scrutinized him for a moment, taking in his appearance. she could tell he was well-groomed and well-spoken, but she also had a watchful eye for any potential troublemakers. she glanced over at you, noting the way you were watching the interaction between the two of them, and then glanced back at eren.
“well it’s nice to meet you. i don’t believe you gave me your name,” she nodded in acknowledgment, her gaze still appraising him.
“apologies. i’m eren yeager, ma’am.”
she took in his name and the way he presented himself, weighing him silently in her mind. she was clearly being protective, trying to figure out if he was a suitable friend for you or not. you sigh deeply, twirling your fingers anxiously. eren notices.
“ah, so you’re the eren i’ve heard about. the troublemaker.”
“ma. .” you eye her, as if telling her not to start.
he smiled innocently, a small hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. he didn't think he was quite as bad as the rumors might’ve made him out to be, but he also knew that he wasn't exactly the most picture-perfect person.
“troublemaker, huh? didn’t know i was known for that. i can tell you that i'm the sweetest person you’ll know if that eases you.”
“hm,” your mother squints suspiciously, a small giggle, surprising to you at least, coming from her. you blink at her, brows furrowing. does she find him sweet? “aren’t you charming. i hope you stand by your word.”
this was becoming awkward for you. given the way you were raised and the household you grew up in, your mother was always the sweet one. stern when needed, but for the most part she let you be your own person. she still had heavy concerns for the people you chose to surround yourself with. and a man wasn’t exactly something she’d be ecstatic with. but with her sickness, and unknowing of the time she had left, she’d let her guard down to see you happy. if he were to break your heart, it’d only be a lesson you’d have to learn on your own.
you remove your sight off of the pretty boy before you, the stand quieting down from attraction to hold her shoulder endearingly. “mama, would it be okay if i stepped away for a bit? just to talk.”
“just for a bit, alright? and make sure you’re only talking,” she says, throwing eren a warning glare. you groan, titling your head annoyingly.
eren nodded in understanding, silently vowing not to do anything that would give your mother a reason to get between you two. the last thing he needed was a scolding from a protective parent, especially one as dedicated as yours. he already had to potentially worry about your father. he gave your mother a reassuring smile, hoping to ease her worry just a bit. “don’t worry, ma'am. we’re just going to head to the hoedown for a dance.”
you shoot him a look, dancing sounds different from talking. he smirks.
“alright, fine. but you be back before ten, okay? no funny business.”
shaking your head, you give her a peck on the cheek. “promise mama. thank you.”
“mhm hmm.”
she watches eren step aside as you remove your apron, maneuvering around the stand as he elongates his arm with a gentle ‘after you’, the two of you strolling away, but not before you turn to look back, giving her a grateful yet giddy smile. your mother chuckles, waving and smiling back, her heart warming at the sight of eren reaching to hold your hand that you hesitated to take before giving in. she couldn’t help but think this was going to be trouble.
“she seems nice,” eren mutters, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
you can’t help but roll your eyes. “yeah, she’s very sweet. just can be a bit overprotective.”
“it’s good you have parents that care for you like that,” he replied, an almost sad tone in his voice.
"yeah, they. . they're cool," you say, faltering slightly as you try to find the right words. “what about yours?”
you look up at eren, trying to catch his eyes, but he's staring straight ahead, his jaw set and his expression closed off. it’s clear that he doesn't want to dive too deep into it, but you can't help but wonder what could've happened to make him react like this. he clears his throat uncomfortably, protectively holding you close as he guides you through the crowd. it makes your heart jump.
“dad isn’t the best.”
“. . oh.”
the ranch slowly comes into view, the sounds of music thrumming louder as you approach. there’s a large, open space filled with people dressed in their best western attire, a sense of excitement and nervousness overtaking you. eren leads you through to make your way towards the center of the ranch, where the dancing and festivities are already in full swing. the music is lively and upbeat, couples twirling and spinning across the makeshift dance floor. others chugging down drinks at the bar.
“you w’na show me how you move?” there’s a certain look in his eye, something else that you can't quite identify. his confidence is infectious.
the crowds contagious, and it’s clear that everyone is having a great time. but you can’t help but fidget at the thought of dancing with someone you’re extremely attracted to. who smelt like patchouli, dressed in all black with tan, slightly roughed up cowboy boots. who’s smile is as bright as the moon, chocolate long hair making him look like the prettiest prince. it felt like a date. and technically, this would be your very first one. which, now that you’re thinking about it, is probably why your mom looked at you the way she did.
you cower, biting your lip. “um, i . . can’t dance. at least the way they are.”
eren raises his brow at your declaration. “really? hm.”
you swallow when eren’s hand pulls you a little closer by your hip, gently resting there to guide you into position. "don't worry. i’ll lead, and you just follow. it’s not rocket science, right?"
“okay.”
he starts to move, slowly guiding you into a basic step. despite your lack of knowledge, you try your best to keep up with him, your eyes glancing down at your feet every now and then out of fear of tripping. eren notices your hesitation and gives a small laugh. he keeps his arm around your waist, making sure you don't falter.
"relax. you’re doing fine. stop looking at your feet so much. you’re going to fall if you keep it up.”
“sorry,” you giggle, your initial nerves starting to fall off as you let him guide you.
he spins you around gracefully, his hand still firmly holding you in place. you're starting to get the hang of it, your body slowly moving in time to the music. the expression on eren’s face is a mix of amusement and pride; it's clear he's enjoying teaching you to dance. as the music changes to a slightly faster beat, he picks up the pace a bit, twirling you around with practiced ease. his steps are confident, his grip firm yet comfortable. you find yourself actually enjoying the experience, laughing at your own clumsy attempts to keep up with him. his smile widens, his eyes shining with a playful glint as he watches you. amused by your honest attempts of catching up.
the music slows down eventually, and now plays a soft melody that has couples pulling each other closer to slow dance romantically. rolling your lips inward, you beam up at him with a soft chuckle. i’ll be by edwin mccain playing, and it happened to be one of your favorite songs. the moment becomes intimate, and eren makes a move to rest both hands on your lower back to pull you even closer so your chest touches his. the warmth from his body onto yours gives you goosebumps. it gets more romantic when he places your arms on his shoulder, your hands interlocking while his eyes lock onto yours. bodies swaying slowly with the melodious tune.
“don’t know if i told you how pretty you are.”
you can feel a flutter in your chest at the unexpected compliment. you turn your eyes away from him, a small smile playing on your lips as you try and hide your reaction. you can feel the warmth rising in your face, and you have a feeling he notices it too. “and i told you that you say that to all the girls.”
you’re unsure what switched, but his face grows calm, studying your face intently, hugging you closer as if you’d slip away. that makes you alert. “so . . your mother thinks i’m trouble. i’m not sure what you’ve heard about me. we do live in a small town so shit gets around, including rumors. but, what i’m worried about is how you perceive me.”
the tone in his voice catches you off guard, his eyes fixed on yours with an almost vulnerable expression. “um, i haven’t heard anything about you to be honest. i don’t really stick my nose in drama, or the bullshit older folks gossip about. clearly, my mom knows, and i’ve heard something minor about your father. . i just — don’t want things like that to cloud my judgment of you. i’d wanna get to know you from you.”
he swallows, trying to contain his thankfulness. “seriously?”
“yeah, i mean . .” you shrug shyly. “people don’t necessarily have many nice things to say about me or my family apparently. i guess you could say we’re two peas in a pod.”
“outcasts,” eren prys in a small joke.
“complicated, whatever. misconceptions everyone makes when they don’t know shit. if i get to know you, and get what i think we want to get from each other, and it turns out to be great or goes completely to shit? then that’s for me to decide when i’m ready.”
“you’re absolutely right,” he sighs. “i fuckin’ hate this town sometimes. i’m twenty-three ‘n i feel like i'm stuck here. i just wanna run away and start a new life.”
“i feel the same,” you weakly smile, thoughts flashing around in your head. “this doesn’t feel like home anymore. the community is perfect exterior-wise, but deep down everyone’s a little demented. and believe it or not, my life is miserable. my father’s too overbearing, my mom's sick. they have these high expectations of me, like going to college and honoring the family’s name. but, i’m starting to realize it’s not what i want anymore. i’m only doing it to please them. my father legit made me take a year off just to make sure i’m fully prepared for college.”
“has your father always been strict like that?” eren switches with you as more people make way on the floor, facing south now. the star lights hung on the ceiling setting the mood as more love music played.
“since i was a kid, yeah. he’s always had these values he believed we should uphold. ‘keeping’ the families guidance, child’ he would say,” eren watches you chuckle dryly, his jaw clenching. “often times i wonder why my mother married someone like him when she’s the complete opposite. i’m guessing he was different when they were younger. sometimes i think i ruined their love.”
“don’t think that, ꒰♡꒱,” hearing your name come from him made you squeeze his hand tighter, oddly feeling comforted. “whatever problems they have aren’t because of you. they decided to bring you into this world, therefore it’s their job to raise you to be the best you can be. and i think you’re great, and you can think for yourself and do whatever you want with your life.”
“thank you, eren.”
“mhm,” eren searches your face continuously, memorizing every detail of expression. for future notes. “do you think he’s so hard on you because he never got the opportunities you have? or ‘cause, you know, you’re his only girl?” eren asks.
instantly, you nod. “yeah, that’s definitely it. he’s afraid to make a mistake. granted, he’s made a few already. no parent is perfect, but it’d be nice if he’d see me as the adult i am now and not just his baby girl. or perceive me as this sweet little church girl whose only values in life are to please her parents and have awards to hang in the house to boast about when we get visitors.”
“that’s gotta be hard, i’m sorry.”
“it’s okay. i’d also be the first in my family to attend college. i got offered a scholarship to brown, which is why he has me studying till i bleed. figuratively, of course.”
“wow, an ivy league. that’s big.”
“thanks, i’m a genius,” you roll your eyes sarcastically. your hands drop from his neck, entwining your right hand with his left, eren wrapping his arm around your waist as you two dance that way. “your hands are really soft.”
“all that butter i be churnin’,” he cackles. his face grows serious once more, and yet again you’re unable to read him. “listen, so . . i w’na tell you that i really am drawn to you. i like you, ‘n i’d like to get to know you. who knows, maybe one day we can run away together from our lives here, some cliché shit like that.”
“i . . yeah. i really wanna get to know you, too.”
“ooh, you likin’ me?” he flirts.
you can't help but give him a small smile, your cheeks flushing slightly. this lovesick feeling you get around him was something you’d only read about in novels hauled up in your bedroom to escape reality. it felt nice.
"maybe i am. what if i am?"
"i like the sound of that," he replies, his voice a soft murmur just above your ear. "i like it a lot, actually."
you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the closeness making your heartbeat quicken. you try to tell yourself that it's just the dance, just the music, that's making you feel this way, but deep down, you know it's more than that. something about eren, something about the way he's looking at you right now, is stirring up feelings you haven't felt before.
“you know," he says, his voice low and intimate, "would it be too early for me to ask to kiss you?”
and that followed up with more forbidden kisses. the two of you tried to see each other four days out of the week, of course, sunday’s being off limits. you’d run to the market for your mother and spend most of your time at eren’s farm feeding the animals and helping him work. making up an excuse when your mother asked why you took so long. the two of you decided it was best to keep your relationship private from both your mother and father until the time was right. there are nights when you would sneak out when your parents were sleeping to make out in the back of his pickup truck under the stars.
play fighting in the lake, writing each other love letters, running into his arms whenever you saw him while he spun you around and held you tight. every moment spent with him felt like a novel. every kiss feels like a risk, every touch like a secret act of rebellion. living a double life pretending to be just friends. the intimacy of stolen moments you share is like a secret language, a bond forged by the very secrecy that threatens to keep you apart. a month into the relationship, eren surprised you with a date at the same ranch where you shared your first dance. decorating the back of his truck with blankets, pillows, and tons of snacks for a drive-in movie casting on the back of the ranch. he made love to you for the first time that night.
pastor kain and most of the god-fearing parents in this town knew that eren had a reputation for being rowdy and a sweet talker with the girls. he’s not necessarily someone they’d see their daughter for. and eren will admit he’s made some poor decisions in life, but that didn’t make up for who he was deep inside. nobody knew him. they only knew the surface level of what was spoken of him and his family. the yeager's. eren practically runs the farm that’s in his mother’s name, working his ass off every day while his father wastes himself in heavy liquor on the living room couch. he could’ve left a long time ago, but his attachment to his mother and what she built refused to let him pull away.
his father made a few public appearances that tarnished their family name further. altercations with good people in town for giving him dirty looks or speaking with ill intent on his son. a father forever, but a horrible dad through and through. his reputation already ruined eren’s. a lot of people assumed he’d be exactly like his father; a drunk, and an abuser. his mother going without peace in a horrible fight between the two causing her heart attack. eren hates that he can’t let him go, having a few nasty fist fights himself. maybe he’s hoping he’d get better one day and be someone. but that was far from what will happen.
eventually, you and eren sneaking around had to end when word got out about it through your father’s church; an older woman calling you a slut and stating that you’ll be no good dealing with a yeager. it’s clear they were truly disliked in this town full of idiots and sinners themselves. ‘holier than thou, up their asses, pretentious dicks!’ is what eren had to say about it. you and your father had one of the worst arguments of your life. a total scream fest when he found out.
eren sat outside in his truck, anxiously bouncing his leg, eventually exiting to pace around on your porch. you come out with tears streaming down your face, eyes red and puffy. eren falls apart, cooing ‘awe, baby’ before embracing you into a tight hug, his strong arms burying your face into the warmth of his chest.
“he just doesn’t understand. i don’t get why he doesn’t understand,” you choke on your sobs, eren brushing a hand down the back of your head, kissing it after.
“let me talk to him,” eren suggests, and instantly you’re disagreeing, backing away and trembling.
“no, eren. i told you, nothing we can say will get through to him. he’s fuckin’ hopeless!”
“kain, stop it!” your mother’s frantic voice could be heard shouting at your father from inside, glass being thrown out of anger.
the blood flows through eren’s veins viscerally, an intense feeling settling within him, bringing back memories of his own mother. the booming voices of his father and items being tossed, knocked down, or torn. without another word, he’s rushing into your home intending to set things straight. you panic, following his lead, unaware of what he is capable of when angry. you’ve never seen him on that level before. you knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t put his hands on your parent, and he was respectful to show proper communication.
“eren!” your voice croaks, tailgating him as he approaches your father’s office where the commotion ensues.
“he’s corrupting our child! why can’t you see that?!”
eren stands tall, pulling you behind him protectively as he meets pastor kain’s accusing glare with unwavering determination.
“who told you to step foot into my home, boy?” pastor kain grits, your mother standing idly beside him, pain wretched over her face. your lips begin to tremble, hating seeing her that way. you never wanted this to be the outcome. you just wanted to love this man. why should you be punished for that?
“corrupting her?” eren chooses to ignore his statement and cut to the main issue. “sir, with all due respect, it’s not your decision to say who she can ‘n cannot be with. i have no intent to hurt her, which is exactly what you’re doing right now. we've made choices based on what's best for us, for our future. ‘n while those choices may differ from what you had planned, they are ours to make.”
“and who gave you permission to include yourself into my daughter's plans?” the man snarled, eyeing you as you sob behind eren aggressively. your cries paining eren’s heart. you were too broken to stand up for yourself right now. feeling like you’ve been doing that for your entire existence. it felt safe to have eren handle things for you.
“she did, because she’s an adult and i will marry her whether you give us your blessing or not,” his voice rises, tinged with a hint of defiance. the word marriage drives your father into madness. “i will never apologize for loving your daughter, for wanting to build a life with her. if that makes me a bad decision in your eyes, then so be it. but i refuse to let you dictate the course of our happiness.”
his gaze shifted towards you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and disappointment. the tension hung heavy in the air, the weight of their disagreement pressing down upon them. yet amidst the conflict, there was an undercurrent of love and concern, a testament to the complex bond that existed between father and daughter. your father holds a hand to his heart as if it’s torn, strolling around his brown desk to take a seat.
“you’re going to let him speak for you, ꒰♡꒱. speak to me like this? there’s no respect for me anymore?”
your sniffles are loud, removing your face from the middle of eren’s broad back to stand your ground, elevating your head and clutching his hand tighter. “i truly don’t know what else i can say to you, daddy. i’m not fond of the life you have planned for me. i will always be your daughter, but i can’t and will not be this little girl you want to have control over. i am an adult, therefore you have to treat me as such. i no longer want to attend college because of my own decision. it was always your dream, not mine. eren had nothing to do with these transitions. i am allowed to love whomever i please.”
the room falls silent as your parents stare at you, your mother placing her hands over her chest with loving despair. she herself has made multiple attempts to try and change her husband's point of view, but nothing surpasses. eren glances at you, eyes shining with adoration and protectiveness.
“it’s not that i won’t let you live your life. it’s that i don’t approve of who you’re trying to give your life to. what can he do for you?”
eren feels a sense of inferiority. “i may not come from wealth, but i am not a man of indolence. your daughter is a remarkable woman who deserves everything she wishes for. she knows her own mind ‘n heart, ‘n she's chosen me. ‘n i love her for that. i’m not belittling your concerns, but i can not, in good conscience, abandon the woman i love’ needs. we may not fit the mold you've envisioned, but i love her and will continue to whether you disapprove or not. i will provide for her, take care of her. she never has to lift a finger while with me.”
pastor kain’s face contorted in anguish, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world bore down upon him. he looked at you, then at eren, his eyes searching for some glimmer of understanding, some shred of compromise.
“oh lord, have mercy on us all,” with a heavy sigh, he turned away, his voice barely audible as he spoke. “you’ve made your choice clear, ꒰♡꒱. you’re choosing to leave the only home you've ever known, turnin' your back on the only family you've ever had. and for what? a fleeting romance with a man who can't even provide you with a stable future? someone rowdy with a poor excuse of a father? a flirt who can’t handle his greed for women? you want me to be happy for you? for this? he ain’t good for you, baby girl. and i will stand by that for as long as i breathe.”
that’s when all of you equally realized that no matter what was said, his opinion will remain one sided. admitting defeat as a whole. anything that was said completely flew over his head, and only his view mattered. it’s narcissistic, and bizarre. eren was baffled, in fact.
the waves of pain crash down on you, wishing he would just understand you, and be happy for you. to approve and give his blessings. to tell you that the man you’re in love with is good for you. eren holds you as your body grows weak, almost falling over. it’s clear the effect this had on you, and he fucking hated it.
“i just want you to . . you don’t even k-know him.”
he shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “i fear for your soul, my dear.”
i fear for your soul. that haunted your dreams like nothing else ever had. it was by far the vilest thing you’d ever heard your father say to you. it made you cry for days on end. breaking your heart over and over again. weakening since the moment you’d packed your suitcase and said goodbye to your mother. you no longer saw your father as family. giving her a heartfelt embrace and kissing your home goodbye. four months later, your mother passed away. regret ached at you for not seeing her as much after you left with eren. you’d seen her only a few times after the horrible fight, spending the day with her as she gave eren an extreme apology as well as her approval. she prayed you’d forgive your father, to give him grace.
the last time you saw your father was at your mother’s funeral. and the look on his face remained the same towards eren; disgust. you still loved your father a great deal, but the respect no longer resides. you’d comfort him, check on him occasionally, but keep your distance to protect your peace. after your mother received a beautiful burial, you continued your future with eren. marrying in secrecy two months later. in the aftermath of loss, the two of you found solace in each other. amidst the grief and chaos, your love became a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest times, there could still be beauty. so, in a quiet ceremony surrounded by close friends, you vowed to spend the rest of your lives together.
as you exchanged rings and sealed your union with a kiss, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. for a moment, nothing else mattered except the love you shared, the future you would build together. a good thing that came out of this was eren’s father getting clean and giving him a letter from his mother he’d kept hidden on his own accord. a title for land she’d purchased just for him to do what he pleased. eren’s father held down the farm while eren decided to build your dream home on the new land. and he stood by his word.
it was hard for eren to forgive his father, but he appreciated that he wanted to be better. it’d never bring his mother back, nor heal the bruises on his heart, but it was something. once he built this home for the two of you, he’d never have to see him again. it seemed like both of you were running away from your father’s. it was scary how somewhat similar your situations were. you became acquainted with his father out of respect, helping with the farm to pass time as eren focused on building the house with his friends. it helped you clear your mind surprisingly, always adoring animals and gardening. it’s something you wanted to do once the house was ready as a hobby.
some days were really hard, grieving not only the death of your mother but the separation from your father. you felt bad for the many nights you cried in eren’s arms about it. luckily he didn’t invalidate your feelings. he constantly reassured you that everything you felt was natural, and he had no problem comforting you on your lowest days. and that if anyone understood the pain of losing a mother, it’d be him. he truly was your angel. who would’ve thought a man you’d met at a market one random day would be the one you’d spend the rest of your life with.
eren spent an entire year and a half building a charming little cottage nestled in a scenic countryside setting out of town, about an hour. it’s a cozy, quaint structure with a warm, homey feeling. the exterior is made of white wood, front adorned by a wrap-around porch, blue shutters, and a few flowers in pots. the windows are large and welcoming, bringing in natural light and a lovely view of the surrounding landscape. he’d built your dream kitchen, tall windows overlooking the garden. a bathroom with a clawfoot tub and double sinks. and a library so you could read and write. he did it all.
you stood beside him, hand resting on the small of his back as you surveyed your new home.
"this is perfect," you whispered, voice filled with emotion as tears well in your eyes. “it’s everything i’ve ever wanted, eren. thank you.”
eren turned to you, his eyes shining with love and pride. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. the scent of your perfume mingled with the earthy aroma of nature filling his senses with comfort.
“i meant what i said, i'd do anything to make you happy,” he murmured, breath tickling your skin. he tilts your chin up, gaze locking with yours as he brushes a stray curl behind your ear, the tears falling down your brown cheeks. “you’re the most important thing in my life, and now we get to share this space, these memories, everything. together."
𐦍
a storm is raging outside on the day of your anniversary, and it only raises your anxiety for your husband currently working in this weather. you’d set up the dining area to surprise eren, spending hours in the kitchen to perfect the tastiest meal. you’d always be sure to welcome him home with a good meal after hard labor. talks of the storm have been on a loop, playing on the living room tv repeatedly. one of your worst fears was a natural disaster. for it to possibly happen today of all days felt like a big joke.
you’ve been trying to keep your mind off it, praying for eren’s safety while anxiously nibbling at your cross necklace. you’ve tried to contact him a few times, but gotten no response. assuming he was busy, you left it alone, knowing he’d get back to you as soon as he was available. service was probably terrible out there. within the next moment, as you set the oven to three sixty-five and placed the round cake pan in, the sound of the front door swinging open alerts you. you hear that familiar sound of house keys jangling, and your heart nearly combusts at the realization that your husband made it home.
the oven mitts come off, and immediately you’re bolting towards the living room; a sweet scent of roses wafting up from the extreme wind blowing into the house and the bouquet in his hand. “where you at, baby? i’m home!”
his voice calling out to you makes you giggle, echoing through the warm house. a few seconds later, you emerged from the archway, a smile beaming on your pretty face as you ran into his arms, eren chuckling as he caught you and your legs wrapped around his waist. kissing at his face in relief.
“baby, i was so, so nervous. the storms gettin’ worse by the day. i thought you were stuck somewhere. you weren’t answering your phone ‘n i got so scareddd,” you bury your face in the crook of his tatted neck, nearly sobbing as you clutch him tight.
it’s true, the weather was horrible. trees knocking down, power going out, roads blocked. it happened out of the blue. they’re saying a hurricane is a high possibility. why you’re finding out last minute? who fucking knows. unfortunately, he was on the clock today working at the plant, his highlighted yellow vest adorned on his shoulders as he stepped himself out of his dirty timberlands. luckily they were collectively told to head home early for safety reasons.
“oh, darlin’, i’m alright. my body’s intact,” he kisses your cheek. “i told you to stop watchin’ the news. it makes you more sensitive.”
he sets you down slowly, your bare feet hitting the ground while you pout up at him. your curls were tousled as if you'd just rolled out of bed, but you looked beautiful, breath catching in his throat actually. especially dressed up in this dark red two-piece set. cute ruffled shorts and a skimpy bra accentuating your every curve in a way that left little to the imagination. the swell of your ass, hips, and thickness of your thighs that touch swallows the material salaciously. your skin is smooth, always. scented with dewberries and magnolia.
“fuck, baby,” he breathed, voice low and husky as his hand slips down to grip your ass, spanking you hard as you squeak. “i like this on you. you look pretty.”
“thank you, baby,” your eyes sparkle with affection. “i wanted today to be special. i made dinner and all. but the storm had me shittin’ myself.”
“that’s why i gotcha these before the flower shop closed. well, i ordered ‘em ahead of time ‘n miss valerie let me pick ‘em up,” eren hands you the assortment of flowers in his hand, blooming red roses and cream calla lilies swarmed in black wrapping paper. you take them, adoringly jutting out your lower lip more. “happy anniversary, sweetheart.”
“you’re such a sweetie, rennie,” you lay your chin on his chest, leaning into him while looking up at him with puppy eyes. “thank you.”
“mhm hmm,” eren loses focus already, clutching the side of your face before leveling his neck lower to capture your lips in a searing kiss, bottom lip dropping to enclose your mouth with his.
the kiss is slow and filled with passion, eyes shutting in sync as you moan from his taste. he smelt like he’d done hard labor and the musk of his cologne he’d spritzed at six in the morning, but you loved it. every time. your fantasies just get more disgusting as you age. the heavy toolbelt that’s sliding down his hips, the white crewneck, slightly stained with patches of oil almost eating up his muscles, showcasing his tatted right arm and neck. wedding band around his finger as he holds your face to aggressively kiss your smaller frame. he’s forever hot.
the savory aroma of dinner wafted up from the oven, momentarily breaking the spell. with a groan, he reluctantly pulled back, eyes never leaving yours. "i smell food.”
"well, since you've gone through all that trouble, i showed my appreciation properly."
as you drag him towards the dining room, his gaze falls upon the beautifully set table, the flickering candlelight casting a romantic glow across the darkly lit room. confetti littered the surface, a whimsical touch that added to the celebratory atmosphere. a chilled bottle of wine sat in a silver bucket. he watched you slip on your oven mitts to retrieve the food you were keeping warm. eren surveys the spread, the tantalizing aroma of perfectly steamed lobster claws glistened with butter, while the filet mignon looked pink and juicy. his stomach growls with anticipation, only eating the lunch you packed for him earlier in the day containing birria ramen and pork dumplings.
“damn, you always do so well. good job, baby,” he marveled, heart swelling with admiration for your thoughtfulness. his praises making your face heat up. he does it so much you’re not sure if he realizes how it makes you feel. "everything looks so good. let me jus’ shower real quick ‘n we can dig in, yeah?”
“noo,” you protest. eren arches a brow. with a flourish, you poured two glasses, the rich red liquid swirling seductively in the crystal bowls. “love you like this.”
eren cracks a smirk, sucking his teeth in amusement. “you’re so dirty, girl.”
"you like it,” you raise your glass in a silent salute. “come eat. i need you thick.”
“shut it.”
you scream as he hits your ass playfully, sneaking behind you to kiss your cheek while you snort, eren pulling out your chair like a gentleman so you can sit, soon taking his adjacent to you. for the next hour the two of you enjoyed each other's company, laughing in faces, getting tipsy, love bites and sensual touching . . the usual. eren thanked you repeatedly for how good the food was, soothing old-school rnb playing soundly low in the background while he washed the dishes as you spread chocolate icing on the cake you baked. it was a moment of simple domesticity, a glimpse into the everyday life you’d built together. once the last plate was put away, your husband dried his hands and turned to face you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he watched you sip your wine while you spread the icing spatula over the cake, humming to the tune.
slowly, he approaches you, coming behind you and planting kisses along your neck, your hand dropping the spatula while your eyes falter shut. his kisses are filthy, his hands groping you to push your ass back onto the outline of his dick now hard in his jeans for a while. he slowly trails a hand up your throat to clutch, pushing you against the counter nearly bending you over fully.
you moan, rubbing your ass back on him as his hands roam over your body, a wine glass in your hand as you close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder. you reached beside yourself, fingers trailing lightly down his forearm where his hand slips in between your thighs, groaning on your skin as he rocks his erection against the shape of your ass. a delicate gasp falls from you, setting your wine glass down and hooking your arm behind yourself to hold his head in place.
“c’mere,” eren licks his lips, your skin prickling with heat as he guides you closer to him by your abdomen, spreading your thighs further apart to slot his fingers into your ruffled bloomers.
his teeth nip at your earlobe while he grunts and rolls the pads of his rough fingers against your clit, a cute sound emitting from your mouth. your jaw is agape, eren hissing when you tug at his hair the minute he’s sliding his middle fingers into your pussy, stretching you open as his thumb strums your clit, tugging your bloomers down to your knees with the hook of his thumb. instantly, you’re falling apart. moans breaking out in short whimpers and high gasps, grinding into his palm. eren arches over you, free hand palming the countertop which your hand rests over to grab for leverage, wedding bands touching, his breath heavy on your flushed skin.
"there we go, take it baby,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with desire and encouragement. he leans in to capture your lips in a slow, sensual kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to mingle with yours.
“babyy,” you’re whimpering, his fingers long and entirely deep inside of you. the loud squelch of your pussy fueling him.
eren’s fingers scissor and curl to hit that perfect spot inside you, your moans growing louder, hips rocking to match his rhythm. the dual stimulation of his fingers fucking you while he thumbs at your clit has your body trembling with anticipation, the wine in both of your systems heightening every feeling. the desperate clench around his fingers only increases his efforts, pumping his fingers faster and applying more pressure to your sensitive bud.
the sudden insistent knocking at the door shattered the intimate mood. you froze, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes shot open to glance at him, a mix of annoyance and concern etched on his features as you watch his jaw clench. he wants to ignore it, but the worry on your face tells him not to. he’s groaning.
“the hell could that be?" he muttered under his breath, your mind racing with possibilities. it wasn't uncommon for neighbors to stop by, but during a severe storm? you’d think everyone would be hauled up at home.
groaning yourself, you fix yourself up, scrunching your face from the uncomfortable feeling of wetness sticking between your thighs. wanting to stomp in irritation, you go to grab a soapy towelette as eren’s too busy licking you clean off his fingers while shaking your head and wiping his hand.
“do you think it could be the county police? maybe they’re checking to see if everyone’s safe,” you say, going to search for one of eren’s oversized hoodies to toss over your head and cover your body appropriately.
“could be. i heard a few people’s had their power knocked out. i’m hoping we won’t have to evacuate.”
eren takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever interruption awaited. with a reluctant sigh, he strode towards the front door once you were ready. as he unlocked it, he made sure to securely have a tight grip on it since the wind was ridiculous out. the last thing the two of you expected was to see a familiar face awaiting, going into shock as you see your father standing on the other side, his gaze sweeping over eren before settling onto you.
“pastor,” eren greeted him curtly, trying to keep his tone neutral despite the annoyance simmering beneath the surface. he steps aside, letting the man inside so he wouldn’t get knocked over by the raging winds. “come in if you must.”
eren shuts the door, standing tall next to you. he’s confused why he’s here, hoping his visit wasn’t a thinly veiled attempt to criticize his relationship with you once again. then again, it’s been three years since he’s personally seen him. of course you kept him in your life, just extremely briefly. you stand beside eren, feeling his tension and bracing yourself for an uncomfortable confrontation. pastor kain’s presence fills the room with an awkward heaviness, and you can almost sense the disapproval radiating off him in palpable waves.
“daddy, what are you doing here?" you ask softly, worry and curiosity inked in your voice.
as pastor kain stepped further into the house, his eyes roamed the space, taking in the evidence of you and your husband’s shared life together. the cozy living room, adorned with photos of you two, hinted at the love and connection you’d built. the faint scent of the dinner you had not long ago, a reminder of the domestic bliss you’d created.
“i was in the neighborhood and wanted to see my daughter. the storm’s really bad, and i got worried. hopefully i'm not interrupting anything.”
your eyes soften, smiling faintly. "thank you for doing that. i’m glad you stopped by. but you should be home. why were you out in this weather?”
“had to drop cherry off at the vet, she ain’t doing too good,” your father frowned, the mention of the dog he’d gotten a while after your mother passed makes you sympathize.
“oh, i’m sorry to hear that. she gon’ be okay?”
“can’t say for sure. she been havin’ a lot of stomach problems, uh . .” he quickly clears his throat as if to cover up his pain. you weakly smile, rubbing his arm.
“hey, no need to explain. i’m prayin’ she’ll be okay. it’s nice to see you, um . . eren and i were just celebrating our anniversary. would you like to join us for dessert?” you gesture towards the kitchen where a decadent chocolate on chocolate cake sits on the counter.
eren watched pastor kain’s expression closely, gauging his reaction to the invitation. when he hesitated, eren couldn't help but feel a flicker of irritation.
“sure, why not?" pastor kain replied gruffly, his gaze lingering on the cake before meeting eren’s eyes. "but just a slice, i shouldn't impose."
eren bit back a retort, choosing instead to lead the way to the kitchen. he motions for the two of you to take a seat at the dining table while he cuts a generous portion for each of you. it's silent until he comes back.
“here you go, sir,” eren says, handing him a plate with a warm smile.
“ ‘preciate you.”
eren nods formally, leaning against the counter, observing the interaction between you and your father with a mix of curiosity and caution.
“how’ve you been? i know last time i saw you, you were attending therapy. is that going well?” you ask.
“it’s been . . difficult," pastor kain admitted, his voice cracking slightly as he set his fork down. he rubbed the back of his neck, a sign of discomfort or perhaps guilt. "losing your mother was a blow, and then dealing with your decision to . . leave home. .”
he trailed off, gaze drifting to you before returning to meet eren’s eyes. there was a depth of sorrow in his eyes that he hadn't seen before, and for a moment, eren almost felt sorry for the man. the topic of your mother is still hard for you, eren coming over to sit beside you to entwine his fingers with yours to give you comfort.
“i miss her every day," pastor kain continued, his voice barely above a whisper. your heart aches to hear your father's admission, and you reach out instinctively to lay a comforting hand on his. despite your differences, you know the pain of losing your mother is something you share deeply.
"i miss her too, daddy," you say softly, voice thick with emotion. "every single day. but, she would want us all to be happy, and live life to the fullest. she told me so after . . everything.”
the thought of the altercation makes you all shift uncomfortably, hating that night. “we both care about you very much. i know things haven't always been easy between us, but . . i hope we can find a way to mend those bridges."
“that’s another thing i’ve been discussing with my therapist,” he sighs. “we talk about that night often, and somehow it still stirs something . . awful in me. though time has passed, i still don't approve of you disappearing with this man while giving me the short end of the stick with only minimal check-ins."
that makes eren flinch, feeling a sting of defensiveness rise within him. clenching his jaw, he stares intently at your father. just waiting for him to really try it. at this point in time, he gave no fucks about respect. eren knows you can stand up for yourself, but he won’t hesitate to set him straight.
"leaving wasn't easy for me, you know that, as i’ve said before. i loved mom so much, and i didn't want to abandon you. but i also needed to follow my heart and build a life with someone who accepts me for who i am. you’re still upset about us eloping, alright. but that doesn't mean our love is any less real. i mean, of all days, you really chose to do this today?”
“i’m not saying your love isn’t real,” pastor kain said, his tone softening slightly as he realized he was already upsetting you. it’s something he’s trying to work on. he sighed heavily, running a hand through his gray hair. “i just miss my little girl. the one who used to sit on my lap during sermons, who helped me prepare for sunday mornings. you grew up too fast, baby girl. left me behind. for this man i barely know.”
your heart clenches at the raw emotion in your father's voice, and you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, getting irritated by your sensitivity. his words still sting, a painful reminder of the distance that has grown between you over the years. eren doesn’t appreciate the way he’s making you feel, easily getting triggered.
“forgive me for intruding, but i don’t appreciate the disrespect you have towards me or my wife.” eren budges in, his intervention catching you off guard. you face him with wide eyes, silently urging him to tread carefully. while you appreciate his protectiveness, you don't want him to further alienate your father.
"it’s okay, eren," you murmur, placing a calming hand on his chest. he looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“no, it’s not okay, ꒰♡꒱,” eren stops you. “i've grown tired of being disrespected 'n judged based on your father's misconceptions of me. you don’t know me because you haven’t tried to get to.”
a challenge simmers in the dark depths of his eyes as he stares at your father. “if you truly care about your daughter's happiness, then you should be supporting her choices, not tryin’ to tear them down with your outdated beliefs.”
“with all do respect, eren, she’s still my daughter.”
“actually, no,” eren jumps back in, his jaw clenching, a hint of steel underlying his words. “this is my wife, and this is our house. if you choose not to respect it then you can kindly see yourself outta that door. i don’t understand your mindset when it comes to knockin’ down your daughter's happiness, nor do i understand holdin’ me accountable for shit i did as a stupid kid.”
“that doesn't change the fact that you stole my daughter from me and married her outside of her faith. it goes against everything I've taught her. and you aren't even a christian, it’s not according to god’s plan."
“where is this even coming from?” you scrunch up your face in disgust, eyes piercing at him. “why are you still being like this after all these years?”
“i’m not tryin’ to cause an argument. i talked to god and realized i should come forward with issues that are bothering me, and find solace. and that’s what i’m doin’.”
“by still hurting me?”
“i’ll say it again,” eren cuts back in. “she’s my wife. put aside your religious beliefs and respect that as a man,” eren scoffs. “we may not have married under oath, but it happened. so deal with it.”
“i would respect you a lot more if you gave my daughter the proper marriage with her family. especially after her mother died. maybe i’d forgive all your other sins. this goes against her family’s unity,” pastor kain snarls.
“dad, enough,” your eyes squeeze tight. he’s ruining your day. “this is getting out of hand now. .”
eren pinches the bridge of his nose, ready to swing at this point. "pastor kain, i understand that my past mistakes have given you a reason to doubt me. but i'm not that same reckless kid anymore, clearly. i've worked hard to build this home for us ‘n keep it. everything i’ve done from the moment i met her to now, has been for her. so here’s what’s gon’ happen. you either start respecting your daughter’s choices and accepting me as part of this family, or you can kindly remove yourself from her life. because i won’t tolerate disrespect towards her, especially not in my home.”
as eren speaks, you instinctively reach out and intertwine your fingers with his, feeling the warmth and solidity of his touch. pastor kain’s expression remains stoic, but you sense a crack in the armor of his rigid beliefs. perhaps, just perhaps, eren’s sincerity and your own steadfastness are beginning to chip away at the walls of resistance.
“and if you can’t accept me, then maybe it’s time for you to reexamine your own faith and values. because the way you’re treating your daughter, i wouldn’t say it’s christian of you at all. so i implore you, for her sake, let go of your preconceived notions.”
the air goes quiet for a while, eren staring at your father blankly while you gather your thoughts and caress his hand. it doesn’t take long for your father to push back his chair, the wood slightly scraping the floor as he rises up.
“i apologize, to both of you. truly,” he swallows, bowing his head. “i’ve made plenty of mistakes i’m not proud of. the biggest one running my daughter away from home. i am trying to do better, i am. my old habits seep out unexpectedly. i think deep down my blessings were always with you two, i just have selfish tendencies. i am deeply sorry, eren.”
eren isn’t sure if this is a facade, or if the man is being genuine. his lips are pressed into a straight line, nodding once but having no more words. he’d accept it, but the matter of if he was willing to change and show proof remained.
“right,” he smiles weakly. “and i'm sorry to you, ꒰♡꒱. i’ve never meant to hurt you, granted i have many times. i will continue to repent for my sins. and i hope one day you can forgive me. i will let you two enjoy the rest of your day, i'm sorry to intrude.”
pastor kain gives one more smile to you both before turning his back away and heading towards the front door. you’re frozen in your spot, your heart telling you to bring him back because it wasn’t safe.
“we can’t let him go,” you turn to eren, anxiousness written all over your face. “eren, it’s really dangerous out there. what if something happens to him?”
eren sighs, leaning in to kiss your forehead before standing to follow behind him. his hand is on the nozzle of the door before eren’s speaking up, clearing his throat to rid the still pent up animosity.
“you can stay the night. i won’t let you travel in that storm.”
pastor kain breathed in. “no, no. it’s completely fine. i’ve already overstayed my wel—”
“i insist,” eren finalizes, blinking slowly. “꒰♡꒱ will lose her shit if you drivin’ in that. you know she’s terrified of storms.”
a few minutes pass and your father sits on the living room couch with eren making conversation, surprisingly. you can tell your father is trying to get to know him, and being respectful. you zone out for the most part, this day feeling long and getting to you. you decide to fix him a plate of leftover food you had and making everyone hot chocolate to ease the stress. it’s getting extremely late now, almost near midnight and your father grows tired.
“we can take the sofa. you head upstairs and get comfortable,” you smile at your father, eren glaring down at you as you hook your arm with his.
eren’s jaw tightens slightly at the suggestion, but he quickly masks his irritation with a polite smile. he knows it's the right thing to offer your father the bed, despite his own desires to share a more intimate space with you. the house was built specifically for both of your comfortability since the two of you had long decided kids weren’t for you, being satisfied without.
"that’s very kind of you, darlin’," eren says, his voice smooth and measured. “i think your father will appreciate that, huh?”
“mhm hmm,” you nod sheepishly. “there are clean towels and washcloths in the closet by the bathroom. we’ll be down here if you need anything.”
“think i’ll manage, baby girl. thank you.”
your father gives you a sweet hug and a delicate forehead kiss before smiling at eren and giving him a handshake. “thank you.”
“no problem.”
eren sighs deeply once he’s fully upstairs, grumbling, ‘gotta take a piss’ before he’s heading to the second bathroom around the hall. you gather extra blankets from the coat closet, cutting off the lights while snuggling into the pillow soft couch watching adult cartoons. it’s been a hell of a day, and you wanted nothing more than to ignore the horrible weather outside and sleep next to your man. the white noise of the staticky television nearly has you drifting off to sleep, that is until thirty minutes later you’re woken up by eren sliding next to you.
as the two of you settle in for the night, eren pulls you close on the cloud white couch, his strong arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, he whispers softly into your ear, “you alright, sweetheart?”
you can smell the body wash on his skin, his hair pulled back into a bun as he kisses your cheek and hums, bear hugging you. sighing deeply, you nuzzle your face into his neck, trying to block out the raging rain outside that’s stressing you out on top of current events. “i’m okay. today was really a lot. i’m sorry about that.”
eren furrows his brows. “now you know you shouldn’t be apologizing for him. he can’t control himself, n’ that’s not your priority. i meant what i said by protecting you from any n’ everybody that brings you negativity. i’m not with that. he needs to respect you, especially in this house.”
“as well as you,” you bat your lashes up at him, rubbing his chin. “i hate that he talked to you like that. after all this time, i thought he’d change. i knew deep down he still felt some way since he never brings you up when i visit. doesn’t ask me about us . . nothing. i guess it’s a start that he apologized? and made conversation? but to come here saying you w’na check on me, then proceed to disrespect us?”
eren sighs. “unfortunately, you can’t ever fully change a person. i’ll take the apology, but it’s g’na take a lot more than that for me to even consider him a father in law.”
you stare longingly at his face. “i am grateful that you stood your ground and protected us. that’s very attractive.”
eren grins. “you’re my wife, ꒰♡꒱. forever. ima always make sure you come first.”
graciously, you smile, leaning in to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. “thank you, baby. truly. you’ve been the most beautiful, kindest, loving person in my life. i love that you protect me, take care of me, provide and support me. i love you dearly.”
“of course, baby. i love you too,” he replies, smudging his nose against yours. “my sweetheart. you mean everything to me. you saved me.”
“stop,” you frown. “you’re gonna make me cry. yuck.”
eren nudges his knuckles against your chin with a click of his tongue. “cut that. you’re a strong girl.”
you hum, turning your head to look outside the window that faces the garden out back, the rain pouring heavier; clouds completely gray in the midnight. it was terrifying, especially hearing the wind beat against the shutters. you squeeze eren closer to you, your nerves getting to you more, goosebumps on your arms.
“what a helluva anniversary, huh?” eren speaks to distract you, leveling his face over yours to block your view of the outside. you smile at him, knowing he was aware of your fear.
you tsk, rolling your eyes. “man, from this scary ass weather, to my father’s bullshit . . i’m over it.”
“hm, over it? already?”
you pucker your lips questionably. “yeah?”
“it’s not over,” his voice barely becomes a whisper as he leans into you more, lips pressing against yours deeply.
“eren, i really want to, but we can’t. my dad's upstairs,” you giggle, pushing your face away only for him to grab you and pull you closer to his chest, throwing your left leg over his waist.
“i don’t care. fuck me.”
you gasp with a laugh, eyes bulging when you feel his dick hard and heavy on your thigh. “mister yeager, are you naked?”
“had no choice. my drawls upstairs and i ain’t puttin’ the dirty ones back on.”
“only ‘cause you wanna touch my coochie,” you laugh, gasping when his fingers begin tugging at your shorts, ass almost slipping out while the rest of his fingers delicately brush along your clothed clit. “w-wait. what if he hears. that’s g’na be so embarrassing.”
“ain’t he a heavy sleeper?”
“well, yeah, but—”
“guess you’ll have to train yourself to keep quiet,” he smooches your cheek, smacking your ass hard to tease you, and you lose immediately, moaning loud. he chuckles, your thighs parting to welcome him, mouth agape from the warmth his palms bring, igniting your skin. the blood rushes through you as heat encases your face the instant his hand wraps around your throat, bringing your face closer.
"didn’t get to finish touchin’ you earlier,” eren breathes heavily, his nose pressing against your neck as his lips glide to your collarbone. “it pissed me off."
“m-me too,” you whine when his thick tongue aggressively licks at your collarbone, a kiss following suit and continuing all over your neck.
"your pussy felt so good on my fingers," eren's hands massage over your thighs, purposely avoiding where you need him most. fingers swallowing the thickness of your thighs and the plush of your ass, smacking to get another reaction out of you.
"you're teasing," you whimper, rolling your head back while your eyes scroll. “fuck, you know how wet that makes me”.
" ‘fuckin ‘course i do,” his breath hitches again, moving his face to the other side of your neck, your hand gripping his bicep while grinding your hips to inch closer to his fingers. he tastes your skin again, and it’s lewd, and loud. knowing how sensitive you were there, any intimate sound setting you off.
"stop. teasing."
eren’s pulling the blankets back, dragging you to stand up and firmly pressing your backside to his chest, just like the position he had you in earlier. staring down at you, he admires the deep red of the set you wore for him. it complements your brown skin perfectly, drawing attention to the fullness of your breasts and the swell of your hips. your thick, curly hair tumbling down your back in soft waves, framing your heart-shaped face and accentuating your plump, inviting lips. he pulls the bloomers completely off, your painted toes stepping out of them, twitching from any touch he gives you.
“you’re so perfect,” eren whispers, guiding your head back to lie on his chest so you can look up at him, his mouth enclosing around yours to kiss you upside down. his chin holding you still. “you turn me on so bad.”
you bite your lip, looking up at him with hooded eyes as he holds you in place, a strong arm wrapped around you to keep you pinned to his firm chest. the heat of his skin seeps into yours, igniting a fresh spark of desire within you. you can feel his dick pressed against your lower back, evidence of how much he wants you. you shift slightly, grinding yourself subtly back in a silent invitation. your nipples harden under the sheer fabric of the bralette when his hand comes to play with them, straining towards his touch. you part your lips, letting him deepen the kiss as his tongue dances with yours. the taste of you mingles together, a heady aphrodisiac that makes you crave more. you moan softly into his mouth, surrendering yourself completely to the moment and to him.
turning slightly to the side, you detach your lips to spit into your hand, kissing him again as you stroke his dick beside your thigh, his hands embedded into your hips. his dark brows knit, your hand twisting to his liking as he holds your entire face with both hands, groaning low while brushing his lips amongst your own. his teeth go to pull down the strap of your top, latching his mouth onto the skin of your soft tits, jaw widening to suck on the flesh with tenacity.
"can't get over how good this looks on you," eren hums, keeping the other strap on your shoulder for appearance. he spanks your ass again, and you stand up straighter, turning to face him.
“you really like it?” you ask shyly.
his gaze roams over your body with undisguised hunger. “baby, i fuckin’ love it."
it makes your face hotter, slowly twisting in your spot to try to keep your composure. you hated when you felt intimidated by him as if he was some sort of stranger.
“don’t get shy on me now,” he noticed instantly, cupping your chin before kissing you. “show me that bad girl i know.”
a coy smile twitches at your lips, eren urging you to hurry with a hand smoothing onto the top of your head as you lower to your knees. he grips your hair dominantly, forcing you to keep your eyes on his. the sight is undeniably godly. he looks almost worn out, shoulders hunched under the weight of a long day's labor, and the marital instinct inside of you wants to make him feel better. his dark hair is mussed, easily falling from the hair tie wrapped in the follicles. there's a rugged attractiveness to his features; the strong jawline, the piercing gaze, the hint of stubble along his chin, the desire in his eyes. scattered across eren’s right arm and neck is a plethora of dark ink, artistically gothic, straight out of a fantasy novel. none of his tattoos had deep meanings. he liked what he wanted and that was all, using his skin strictly as an artist’s canvas. the only one that meant a lot to him was your name tatted across his wrist.
"tell me to open my mouth."
eren grunts, your sudden lead stirring something within his abdomen. usually, he’s the one telling you what to do. "open your mouth. now."
your lips part, obeying without hesitation. "stick your fingers in."
eren lays two fingers on your soft tongue, slowly stroking until he’s reaching the back of your throat to build up more saliva. you moan in approval, eyes watering but still maintaining eye contact. eren’s brows are knitted, dick hanging from the weight of it. he’s bending forward, spitting on your tongue and prepping your mouth, groaning gravely. you pull your mouth back from his fingers, salvia dripping down your chin.
“you always do that,” he chuckles, the roughness of it making you squeeze your thighs.
“ ‘cause you’re nasty,” you smirk, rolling your eyes. eren playfully does the same. “take my head and put my mouth where you want it."
“fuck, you’re so good at that,” eren comments, gripping your chin to give you a chaste kiss. “talkin’ so pretty.”
he keeps a firm hold on your scalp, curls tangled within his rough hands as he steadily guides you toward his dick, eyeing you darkly, back slightly bent so he can catch the view of your nose touching his stomach. you make sure to keep your eyes attached to his, dying to watch him submerge into ecstasy. he enjoys the control he has over you. you gag around him, and when he whimpers from the sensation, you can't help but grind in your position, the neediness itching at you. trailing your dominant hand between your thighs, you use two of your fingers to spread your lower lips apart to collect your juices before sinking them into your soaked opening.
"oh my god," he notices instantly, choking on a moan as your nails dug into his thigh, moaning around him. he's breathing heavily, your teary eyes the trigger. pressure builds inside him now. he evokes a low growl, and his pace picks up even more, and so do your fingers. shifting your hips quicker. “i’m so proud of you, mama. you doin’ me so fuckin’ good right now.”
eren loses himself in the raw act of claiming your mouth, each brutal thrust forces a corresponding squelch from your stuffed lips, saliva and precum mingling in a lewd display of submission. you continue sucking, your moans vibrating around his shaft as you fuck yourself open for him, juices flowing freely down your thighs. eren's thrusts become more urgent, his grasp on your hair tightening.
“fuck, baby gimme your throat," he whispers, his hips driving forward aggressively. “take it real deep.”
with a deep thrust, eren hits the back of your throat and holds it there, the pressure building at the base of his dick. your eyes water, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hold your breath, never breaking eye contact, silently urging him on. your eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the sheer size of eren's dick fucking your throat. you gag as he fucks your face steadily with his head tossed back, and through it all, you find yourself getting wetter at the depravity of it all. eren's neediness is arousing, his hips rocking into your mouth with so much lust. you can feel his balls slapping against your chin with each thrust, the sound echoing obscenely in the almost quiet room. the tv luckily drowned out most sounds. suddenly, eren's entire dick pulses and throbs within your throat, hot jets of cum erupting directly onto your tongue. you swallow, like he likes, gulping down every drop as he rides out his orgasm, finally stilling to catch his breath.
“fuck,” he wheezed, hips jerking as he carefully pulls his toned hips back to let you breathe, dick twitching and jumping, still hard and needing more. groaning when you kiss the tip and after, his happy trail. “that felt too good, sweetheart. c’mere.”
eren’s gaze locks onto your face, drinking in the sight of your gratified expression as he picks you up, sitting you on the couch as he lowers his head between your thighs. your knees are hiked up to your chest, your thumb hanging on the corner of your mouth as you stare down at him in bliss. his brain rewires every time he sees her; puffy, warm, and soaking just for him. the anklet you have shimmers as you chew at your thumb and gyrate your hips, waiting for him to touch you with a pleading whine.
he slides two fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping pussy, pumping them carefully as he lowers his face to suckle your clit into his mouth. your quiet moans and cries spur him on, your hand going atop his head to guide him as he eats you out. your hips buck against his face, your body trembling beneath him, back arched and toes curled as he devours you. he's relentless, tongue flattening across your clit as he moves his head to apply pressure, lips kissing and swallowing your clit while his fingers twist and fuck into you. you're panting now, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer while your face screws up in pleasure, hating that you couldn’t scream the way you wanted.
"mmm, look at that pussy, baby. look,” eren’s grabbing the back of your neck to connect your forehead with his, forcing your gaze to look at the way his fingers move inside of you, soft tummy molding. “fuckk, she’s so sweet. clenching too tight. give her t’me. make it easy.”
sobbing, you nod your head against his, covering your mouth to muffle your moans as tears well. he curls his fingers just right, hitting that elusive spot far inside that makes your toes curl. grunting, he lowers his face back, burying it into your cunt feeling the scruff of his facial hair creating delicious friction against your sensitive skin. he’s opening and encasing his lips around your clit in iterations, sucking and licking hard, spanking your outer thigh while slicking his face up and down, your wetness lewdly known.
“ooo, f-fuckk, ba—by, agh!” the pressure builds, coiling tighter in your belly until you can't hold back anymore. you cry out, fisting at his hair and the fabric of the couch as you roll your hips harder on his mouth.
“you’re making such a mess, girl,” he talks against your pussy, swallowing down every drop you give him. spanking you repetitively, the act and vibration causing your thighs to clamp around his ears as your orgasm crashes over you. pleasure rippling through your body, your juices flooding eren's mouth as he laps at you greedily, prolonging your bliss.
the shivers come from every part of you, your legs, your arms, and the breath on your lips. wanting to cry from how good it felt along with the frustration of not being able to scream. eren comes up to kiss you, muttering ‘go ‘head’ to let you scream into his mouth, grunting and moaning altogether from the intensity. your legs unable to stop shaking. he’s giving you open mouth kisses, your sounds stirring something sinister within his dick as you suck on his tongue, tasting yourself and groping at his waist to bring him closer to you.
“atta girl,” he pecks your lips one more time before pulling you to stand again.
eren turns you around, bending you forward as your thighs press tight together, holding your body up by your forearms pulled back. your upper body hangs, tits threatening to spill from your bralette. eren’s hair is long in his face now, positioning his hips so his dick can slide easily into you without the extra support. a low groan rumbles in his throat when his wish is granted, and you take him full. a ring of white shadowing around his dick with your cream, breathlessly whispering ‘yeah, fuck’ under his breath. feeling his dick makes you whine, shifting your ass back, greedy for more. this feeling never gets old.
“fuck, yes. squeeze me just like that,” he rasps, pulling nearly all the way out before snapping his hips forward. you gasp from his roughness, tilting your pelvis to take him fully. the tightness making eren blow a raspberry before throwing his head back. “goddamn, mama.”
“p-please,” you beg, moving your ass back as much as you could, not having much power over strength at the moment. “need it, baby. fuck me.”
there was no need for that since he already had the intention of fucking you numb. shifting hips waist, he's rolling into you with ease, your ass clapping back onto his abdomen as he lets out a disgruntled noise that's loud enough to wake the entire house. you squeak, his thrusts rough and steady, fucking you good while keeping you still. heaving, your body falls back into his weakly, having no control over how he wants to use you. thighs adding pressure onto your clit as you mindlessly bounce back on his dick that's splitting you open.
"b-baby. . . too loud," a small panic drawls out, leveling your head to avoid blood rushing to it. eren scoffs, slowing himself momentarily to bring his face by yours.
“i don’t give a fuck, this my house,” he rasps, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your jawline. “do you want me to make you cum or not?”
he assumed you crying was the answer, responding with ‘mhm’ as a ‘that’s what i thought’. his dick twitches inside of you, eren doing his best to keep his composure, but you make it nearly impossible. he's pistoning in and out, watching you coat his dick sweetly, voice laced with lust as you spasm around him and cum unexpectedly. he groans while listening to your cries that ripple brokenly, pounding depravedly as pleasure courses through both your veins.
“it feel good cummin’ on my dick?”
“yess, ‘ren. c-can’t stop cummin’, baby.”
“gimme some more.”
you bite your lip hard to stifle the scream threatening to spill, fingers curling into fists as you fight to maintain restraint. sweat beads on your brow from the exertion of keeping yourself still and silent under his relentless onslaught. the coil of tension in your core winds tighter and tighter, orgasm just out of reach. just when you think you can't hold back any longer, eren shifts slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts. now, the head of his dick is kissing that sweet spot within you with every mean, intended stroke. a strangled gasp escapes you unbidden as that warm feeling bursts once more, convulsing helplessly in his hold, muscles clenching wildly around his dick as you struggle to muffle your cries behind clenched teeth. your hand pushes at his waist as a signal for some form of relief, moving your body forward.
“where you goin’,” eren’s yanking you back the moment you try to escape, locking your wrists in his one hand, the other gripping your waist to continue fucking you back onto him.
“erenn,” your voice cracks, your vision blurring from the intensity. a hiccup falls, your head hanging low as he grounds his dick all up in you. you hear yourself squelch, his sharp hips interacting with the softness of your ass that recoils back. your hands struggle in his hold, crying at the deadlock. but it felt so, so damn good. “f-fuck you. oh my god, fuck you, baby.”
eren tongues his inner cheek with a snarky chuckle. “that just makes me w’na fuck you harder.”
the stamina he has gives you a headache sometimes, unknowing of when you end up flat on your stomach lying on the sectional part of the sofa. eren notches the head of his dick between your folds to gather more of your slick before sinking back in, sheathing himself entirely, balls flattening on the curve of your ass. the solid warmth of his body blanketing yours, wrapping his bicep around your neck while he grabs onto the armrest before you two, rolling his hips and dropping his dick into you.
“no one’s ever g’na do the shit i do to you,” he sloppily french kisses behind your ear, voice growing weak, panting heavier.
“mhm mm,” you agree without words, breaking out to follow the rhythm of his hips.
“your so pretty. say it. tell me you're my pretty girl.”
tears prick at the corners of your eyes, face flushed, and arousal coiling hot and heavy in your belly, responding greedily to his every action.
"i’m your pretty girl,” you gasp weakly, voice barely audible. your nails dig into the cushion as you writhe helplessly, full with his heavy dick and held immobile by his superior strength. every ruthless drive of his hips forces the air from your lungs, making you feel floaty.
a choked sob escapes him as he sinks everything into you, your fingers clawing frantically at the upholstery. you try to bury your face in the cushions to muffle your noises as he splits you open, each powerful thrust getting a singular sound from you, but eren had other plans. his big hand covers your mouth, continuously french kissing your neck as he grunts by your ear and rambles the filthiest things. your body does what it’s trained to; react. you cry in his palm, pussy fluttering around him as you cum for what seems like the tenth time, squeezing his dick like a vise. trembling violently beneath him and it takes every ounce of self-control he possesses not to let loose the feral growl building in his throat, knowing it would alert your father of your illicit activities. instead, he grits his teeth and redoubles his efforts, fucking into you his hardest to pursue his own release.
“eren,” even in your lightheaded state you begin to worry. his skin clashing obscenely loud with yours makes it hard for you not to scream after every nasty pound. you can feel him in your stomach, eyes rolling back into your skull as your mouth drops open, gasping in fragments.
“shut that shit up, ꒰♡꒱.”
whining pathetically, you let him use you as he pleases simply ‘cause there’s no room for bickering. all coherent thoughts flee, leaving only primal instinct and the desperate need for release. with a muffled grunt, he buries himself to the hilt and cums inside you, his grip on your hip tightening almost painfully as he thrusts out every hot drop, shuddering while grinding against your ass to prolong the sensations.
"holy fuck," his voice cracks, rumbling as he hits your ass again and again.
eren slumps heavily atop you, both of you panting and twitching in the aftermath. he rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you're draped across his chest rather than crushed beneath his weight. one large hand strokes lazily up and down your spine as the other tangles in your wild curls, holding you close as he tries to catch his breath.
"you did so well, love," he praises softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and rubbing on you soothingly. "you're a good girl, i love you so much.”
his voice is warm and approving, filled with the kind of affection that makes your heart swell with happiness. in this moment, cocooned in his strong arms and basking in the afterglow, nothing else matters. this anniversary was just one of many. you were worn out, drifting off to sleep without responding, but he knew you felt the same. eren managed to clean you up in your sleep, dressing you with his hoodie again and snuggling under the warm blankets for the rest of the night.
the following morning, you awake to the smell of brewed coffee and pancakes. wiping your eyes and yawning as you make your way towards the brightly lit kitchen, needing to soak in the bath since you can barely walk. finding your father and eren cooking together while listening to the radio broadcasts. it was the most shocking sight seeing them bond. your father flipping buttery flapjacks and your husband fixing the garbage disposal since something got caught in it. your heart blossomed nonetheless, thinking that this is all you wanted all along. this was the best gift.
A/N: Requested by a lovely Anon, I hope this is to your liking, I thank you again for your request, I am always delighted that you all enjoy my writing. 🤍 also, I left the age of the reader ambiguous (I think I used that correctly? lol) so you can imagine whatever your beautiful hearts desire, the request was for a young reader though.
Summary: A lowkey date with a smitten Jack.
Warnings: it might be god awful, I’ve tried to keep it close to him personality wise, a typo or two, bad grammar, bad mechanics, 3 minor swear words?
~*~
The sun was sinking low on another warm summer day in Georgetown, the sky streaked with various colors, purple, orange, and pink being the boldest. Mosquitoes buzzed around and a chilly breeze blew over your skin making you wrap your arms around yourself as you sat out on Jack’s brother Bobby’s patio.
Ethel had gone to get something out of the house leaving you to watch as the boys tossed a football back and forth. It had become a habit months ago, not too long after you had started seeing Jack that the two of you would meet up with his brother, Bobby and his wife Ethel, for dinner and a movie.
You swatted at a mosquito that had landed on your arm, right as Jack yelled in triumph as he caught a pass. The gleeful cheer catching your attention once again as you looked up, still shivering from the wind chill.
“Did you see that?” Jack yelled towards you ecstatically, as pleased with himself as if he had just split the atom. His handsome face beaming as he looked at you for a response.
You looked up at him, “I’m sorry, Jack, I - there was a mosquito.”
Cheeks flushed pink with equal parts embarrassment and cold, as you looked up at him with wide eyes. At this Jack’s eyebrows knit together, clearly displeased with your attention being taken away from him, as he tried to appear impressive to you.
“Are you getting eaten alive over there?” Hands tossing the football from one hand to the other deftly, as he walked up the back steps towards you.
“You look cold, why are you just sitting out here like a lump?” He grinned at you mischievously, a teasing lilt to his voice, as he sat down in the patio chair next to you and dropped his arm around your shivering figure. Fingers brushing against your cold skin in a circular motion.
“Because this guy I’m on a date with is a terrible show off.” You retorted, leaning a bit closer to his warmth, the ghost of his aftershave filling your senses as your head slowly dropped down to rest on his shoulder.
A loud playfully indignant scoff rolled off his tongue, “Am not,” he protested like a whiny little child. “That was a damn good catch if I’ve ever seen one. Hell, Bobby saw it. That’s why he threw it at me, so I could show you how good I am.”
His eyes shifted back down to you, grinning wickedly while his arm tightened around your slight shoulders, “Why you gotta be a spoil sport, doll, huh? Why’s my girl gotta be such a pain in the ass sometimes? Hmm?”
You moved your head off his shoulder and looked up at him with momentary shock for a second, eyes meeting his Hazel colored ones that always seemed like a different color every time you looked at them. Breath catching in your throat as your heartbeat accelerated, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up.
You could look into his eyes forever and it still wouldn’t be long enough for you to be tired of them. The way you became giddy inside over something as simple as eye contact making your stomach explode with butterflies.
“Y-your Girl?” Your voice filled with nervous anticipation, he had never called you that before, and while you certainly had no qualms being the love interest of the Massachusetts senator, it was quite possessive for him, a playboy.
A cocky little grin grew on his lips, making him look particularly devilish. Obviously pleased with himself again by causing you to grow fluster. For a man not usually very verbally affectionate or physically affectionate, his use of the nickname was as unusual as it was unexpected.
His arm from lifted from your shoulders slowly, as calloused fingers brushed a strand of hair from your neck, before tracing his fingers trailing along the skin.
“Hmm, my girl.” His words whisper quiet, causing you to swallow hard, and bite at your bottom lip. So serious, so unlike himself was he, that it threw you off, your heart pounding in your chest like a bass drum.
“And when exactly did you decide this?” Your voice breathy as you remained focused on his gleaming eyes. His fingertips stilling on your neck as he looked back at you. You were excited to say the least, but you didn’t know if you should show how excited you were.
Jack’s hand cradled the side of your face his thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness uncharacteristic for him, “The minute you agreed to come out with me two months ago, I wanted to show you how lucky you were to be on my arm, how much of an exclusive you are, a girl so sweet she should be kept only for me, and I would do anything to keep it that way forever.” He said, tone smooth and confident, before grinning cheekily in your direction.
Leaning back to look at you again, a sly smirk playing across his lips. He loved seeing you get like this whenever he showed even the slightest bit of affection to you, the pink hue that rose on your cheeks one of his favorite things.
"what makes you so sure you’re not the lucky one?” the question leaving your lips along with a small giggle, as a blush spread across your cheeks, a tell-tale sign of your true feelings for the man.
Jack's eyes narrowed playfully at your words, arms pulling you in closer to him. The scent of his cologne nearly overwhelming your senses, and the feeling of the warmth of his body against your own playing with your mind.
“Oh, yeah?” he replied mirthfully, hand still resting on your cheek as the other was snaking its way up your thigh to smooth his fingers over the skin there, causing a small shiver to run up your spine, “And why would you think an old dog like me’s lucky at all, darlin’?” The pad of his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he awaited your response.
“You’re lucky to even be in my company.” You teased back, sucking his thumb into your mouth playfully for a second
A soft groan left his lips at your boldness, his thumb swiping across your tongue softly, before pulling his hand away with a quiet pop. His hazel eyes darkened just a fraction—that rare, hungry look he got when you pushed him just right. A look that made you excited and nervous all at once as you looked back at him.
"Sweetheart," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear, "I'm lucky for every damn second I get with you." He nipped at your earlobe, gently pulling before speaking again in that infuriatingly smug tone, that caused you to shiver, "But don't go spreading that around—ruins my whole charming rogue reputation."
The clearing of someone’s throat broke the charged moment. Bobby stood there holding the football with an exaggeratedly pained expression. "Jack—at least wait until Ethel and I aren’t within earshot before you start corrupting her."
Jack eyes rolled dramatically but he made no move to scoot away from you, just lazily draped an arm around your shoulders again.
“Bobby, if I really wanted to corrupt her—" he grinned impishly, “ I sure as hell wouldn’t be doing it on your damn patio."
You nearly choked at this, blushing furiously once again as you elbowed him lightly in the ribs with a scandalized gasp. "Jack!"
His smile was unrepentant as he rubbed at his ribs, and Bobby sighed, tossing the football directly at Jack's chest—who fumbled it badly with a wince before glaring at his younger brother.
The scene causing you to chuckle, “now that catch I saw.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed at you playfully, though the slight wince from the impact was still visible.
"Oh, so now you’ve decided to start paying attention?" His lips curling into a smile, tossing the football onto a nearby chair with an exaggerated carelessness, that made you snicker.
"Figures it'd be when I embarrass myself." His fingers brushed against your waist in retaliation as he leaned in closer. "The first time I was fighting off a mosquito!”
An exaggerated sigh escaped Jack, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest like he'd been mortally wounded.
"My own girl—choosing bugs over her dashing, heroic senator boyfriend." His hand gestured toward himself.
"You’re lucky you’re pretty," he added with a wink, reaching up to flick your nose lightly before squeezing your thigh and grinning at your sharp inhalation of air.
Rolling his eyes dramatically, Bobby headed inside, while muttering about needing whiskey for this—leaving the two of you alone once more on the dimming patio. The playful tension intensified again as he shifted to press his forehead against yours.
"You know I'm gonna make sure I have your undivided attention later," the words murmured—promise laced beneath teasing arrogance, as his breath mingled with yours, before gently pressing against your nose, quickly and pulling away to grab your hand again like nothing had happened, but electricity remained humming where skin touched skin regardless, and you reached to touch the skin that his lips had touched.
“C’mon,” he tugged gently at your skirt as he stood. His eyes falling down to the sliver of skin that was revealed by his tugging. Fixing you with a crooked grin, before pulling you along, glancing over his shoulder at you, “Before Bobby drinks all the good scotch.”
The letter was unsigned, unpostmarked. Tucked inside a plain white envelope that bore only her name—handwritten, unmistakably in his script.
She hadn’t slept much since Dallas.
She had watched the funeral in silence, the tears coming only when she saw Jackie, veiled and hollow, holding the hands of their children. The sound had gone out of the television then, or maybe it had gone out of her world.
The letter sat on her desk for hours before she finally opened it.
Alejandra—
I don’t know if I’ll send this. Maybe I won’t. Maybe it’s safer that way. You always told me I never knew when to leave something alone, and maybe you were right. But there are things a man ought to say before it’s too late.
I’ve done the things I was supposed to. I wore the masks. I played the part. But you were the only thing I ever chose for myself.
I miss you. In a way that terrifies me.
Yours, always—
J.
She closed her eyes.
There had been a time when she thought she could change the ending—rewrite the lines before history inked them in permanent record. But Jack had always belonged to the world, even when he told her otherwise.
The fire beside her cracked softly. She didn’t move to feed it.
Instead, she placed the letter in the drawer beside her bed, where the others lived—hidden, unspoken, untouched by time.
And then she whispered into the stillness, “You never stopped being mine.”
—————-
Ok, so this is the prologue to my JFK fanfic. Kind of scared tbh but y’know what, YOLO lmao
But forewarning: this is not going to be a happily ever after fanfic (clearly as stated in the prologue). I’m thinking of going forward with a forbidden love-esque, right person, wrong time type of thing. Don’t ask me why…I guess I just love angst and heartbreak…y’know emotional torture for some reason. If you’re interested in this fanfic continuing on, let me know! This is me putting out some feelers
Also….no smut unfortunately…I’m not good at writing smut as much as I am at reading it but if someone wants to take over the smut part, let me know.
⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.
── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist
⊰– prev next–⊱
── 𝟏𝟗 | 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡
⟡ chapter word count: 3.7k
⟡ content warnings: blanket warnings, overall sense of doom but thats just how reader rolls atp
⟡ a/n: Hello everyone! Finally, I get to plant the seeds for many things to come. Can you believe that this talk, eren and reader's talk by the sea and then at the basement were all not in my outline? Never ever have I outlined one of their talks, they always just take the reigns and starts conversing. Anyway, a bit of light angst that was put to a stop by read, but wasn't completely resolved, so keep an eye out for that ;). On another note, I changed the names of all the chapters!! They were boringgg,,,, I'm specially proud of 'the belly of the beast' and 'cassandra and atlas'. Also new format! what do we think?
Thanks for reading!
𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 only a few torches left alight in the hall, the earlier atmosphere of calm chatter left behind when everyone retires for the night. You linger in the halls as you so often do, walking amongst the wood lined pathways, gusts of warm air intermittently hitting your face.
Dinner and its subsequent clean up was, as many things in the military are, efficient. With not that many people present it wasn’t that much of a chore to put everything back in place, nor was it too time consuming.
You come upon one of the doors that lead outside, and it opens with a creak when you push it, warm air immediately replaced by a cool breeze. The patch where wood and stone meet earth is marred by dirt, grass all but gone from the path many before you have traversed.
The night is as many others; crisp, serene. It does not care for your woes, for your worries, for your victories. It simply is, a perpetual cycle against the turmoil that awakens every time an unknown variable rises to meet you.
In your pocket lies the lone button Zeke had left for you to find, yours in nothing but name, ties too intangible to mean anything to anyone but yourself. The thread Eren had given you twists and turns around it when you take it out onto your palm, almost swallowing it whole. It is tangled—has been for a few days, but you have done nothing to either unravel it or wind it up further.
You had simply dropped it into your pocket once more, only just unearthed today, when that which runs through your mind is composed more of questions than it is of answers.
A year upon your arrival, there is nothing you cling to more than your name, the only vestige of home. Yet one of your first actions here had been to denounce it on the brief stint where you had declared yourself Ymir before Yelena, only to abandon the notion seconds later.
After that, you had taken the last name of the soldier you pretended to be the daughter of, too insignificant to remember. And besides, with Zeke by your side, it hardly mattered what your fake ties were, as only the Warrior’s was worthy of mention.
When you had tried to recall your true last name before, it had been as if your tongue had become as twisted as the thread around your button, only that your brain became foggy too, and any attempt to further recall it would only trigger mild migraines.
So you stopped, figured it was a coping mechanism unconsciously developed, and moved on to greater things that squiggles on a page. It wasn’t until Jean had asked that you had truly realized just how deep the failed recollection went.
You sigh, leaning against the threshold of the door. You would look quite strange here, if anyone should spot you—standing still on the edge of the door frame, eyes as lost as castaways at sea.
You had panicked before—you had reigned it in, sure, but nothing explained the sudden wave that washed away the splotches covering your last name. You haven’t forgotten it, no, for you have kept rotating it in your mind, spacing out in favor of always keeping it within your sight. There is no need to be so paranoid now, you suppose, as you have two witnesses that can remind you of it should you forget again.
But you don’t want to let it slip through the cracks of your consciousness again. It feels wrong, but weirdly, so does to present yourself with it.
Maybe it's because of the identities you have forged this past year. Maybe it's because of all the lies you have to keep track of, of the people with similar yet fundamentally different truths you have presented them with.
You shiver, this time not because of the evening air, but because of the eyes that watch you just beyond the treeline. A blink and your assessment is wrong—whoever that is, they hold no eyes.
Another and they disappear, leaving behind only the goosebumps beneath your skin, the faint whisper of their presence in the night air. The door creaks again when you return inside, heart stuttering with a faint sense of loss that travels through your veins.
This world does not obey the rules you are accustomed to, for physics, the law of matter, and paradoxes behave differently under the watch of a tempered goddess. And so, with a heavy spirit, you resolve to talk to the one person who could give you the insight you never thought you'd have to request.
You pass by some soldiers that linger on the stairs, surely getting in conversations before curfew starts, and so you speed up your walk, not wanting to be out after hours. It is not long before you stand in front of his door, and you swear the wood itself mocks you when you hesitate to knock.
Why? Well, you choose not to examine it too deeply. Still, you can’t help but think of red when your knuckles rap against the wood.
“Hi,” you say when the door opens, revealing Eren on the other side of the threshold. “Can we talk?”
His eyebrows raise slightly, then furrow. “Sure,” he says, stepping out the side to let you through. “Did something happen?”
You stand in the middle of his room with fidgeting fingers, the placement of his furniture mirroring your own. “You could say that,” you gesture with your head. “I'm not…” you sigh. “Hold on, let me just…think about how I’m going to say this.”
You look down as you speak, mentally separating what you know versus the conjectures you have. Mindless steps take you to the foot of his bed, where you sit while you meditate on the order of points you want to hit.
Five, maybe ten seconds fly past when Eren joins you on the bed, sitting on the head of it. Close enough to talk without having to raise your voice, far enough so that your hands have no chance of meeting, not even by accident. You don’t like how that’s the first thing you notice about his placement.
You turn your head to look at him. “Does the last name L/n mean anything to you?”
Unfortunately—or fortunately, you still haven't decided—his eyes flash with no recognition, only confusion. “No,” he says. “Should it?”
You shake your head. “No. No, that’s why this whole thing is weird.”
“What then?” Eren asks, hair untucking from behind his ears when he leans slightly forwards. “Do we have to talk to this L/n guy? Who even is that?”
“Me,” you put out bluntly, ignoring the sharp thunder of pain and ache and unease that travels along your nerves. “That’s my last name.” Another tug, sharper than the last.
“But you say you didn't—”
“I know,” you interrupt, irritated, but not at him. At yourself? No. Maybe. “I remembered it while we were preparing dinner. It just…there are so many things that don’t make sense, and this just elongates the list of things that aren’t supposed to…supposed to be.”
You massage the bridge of your nose, as the sereneness you had tried to copy from the night begins to unravel. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“What?” you hear Eren say, a hint of betrayal in his voice. “You’re going to give up after remembering your last name?”
“Not—not like that!” you are quick to correct, lowering your voice at the last syllable, when you remember you have probably already broken curfew. “I’m literally not supposed to be here. Like, at all. The story I read? Yeah, well, it never ever mentioned me or a L/n or a finale that didn’t end in tragedy.”
You scoot closer to the wall behind you, letting your head rest against it. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to fit into this.”
There is a brief silence that is only filled with the sound of fluttering trees outside his window, interrupted by creaks of old wood.
“...When you say you are not supposed to be here,” Eren starts tentatively, “does that mean…are you from the future?”
That brings you out of your spiral of unknowns. “If I’m what?”
“From the future,” he repeats. “Wha—Hey, why are you looking at me like that? It makes sense! You said you read stories, right? Well, history books could easily fit into that. And—and you said you are from somewhere I wouldn’t know and that you can’t return to! So the future!”
You look at him dumbfounded, and although his explanation somewhat lessens the weight on your shoulders with how ridiculous it is, you can’t possibly fault the logic behind it. You get it—one would default to time travel before ever considering the possibility of world travel.
“That’s—that's not it,” you say, cracking a small smile. “I can see why you’d think that though.”
“Then?” he questions, beginning to count with his fingers. “So no future, no titan, no visions—maybe some weird Founder Ymir stuff?”
“No,” you shake your head. “Can’t do that, unfortunately.”
“I mean, maybe it's not something you do consciously?”
You shake your head once more, before your eyes light up with the realization of why he put forward that theory specifically. “Oh right!” you snap your fingers, “I haven’t told you yet! I’m not Eldian.”
“Eh?” he exhales, confused. “...Marleyan?”
“Not that either. I’m…well,” you tilt your head to the side. “Promise not to think I’m crazy.”
Eren slumps against the wall behind him. “I think we are way past that at this point.”
You hum in response. “I’m like, ninety percent sure I’m from another world. Or universe. Timeline maybe? I'm not sure.”
There is almost no overthinking behind your words this time. It's weird, finally admitting to it out loud. The most you had gotten to say was of the ‘story’ you read, both to Zeke and to the Scouts. But now that you’ve crossed off one more lie by omission with someone—well, you can’t deny how at ease it makes you feel. Given all that has and will happen, of course.
Eren recovers from his stupor moments later, and you relish in the way his face creases, a stark contrast to the blank expressions he wears on the day to day. “I think I would’ve liked it better if you were from the future,” he says with a strangled voice.
“If it makes you feel better, I kind of am. From the twenty-first century, to be exact.”
He shifts in his position, quiet. “That’s so weird,” he mumbles.
If you were on the side with the pillow, you think you'd throw one at him. “You can turn into a fifteen minute titan. Hell, titans just up and disappear when they die. You can see past people's memories.”
“...Fair enough. So?” he turns to look at you. “What about your last name had you so freaked out you came to talk to me?”
You ignore the faint heat that rushes to the tip of your ears at the reminder. “Call me paranoid,” you say, “but I’m beginning to think my arrival here was not random at all.”
“How come?”
“If I'm being honest with you? A hunch.”
“A hunch,” he repeats.
“Yes, a hunch.” you straighten up, a smidge defensive. “I wake up in the middle of some ruins back in Marley, no memories of how I got there, somehow I can’t remember my last name, and I keep having weird reactions to random things for no apparent reason! You can’t say it isn't a little odd!”
You take a deep breath, reigning in your feelings once again. It's not his fault, you say to yourself. Nothing good would come out of you blowing up on him when it's not in his control. “Sorry,” you mutter, looking away. “It's not…,” you sigh. “Nothing makes sense. And I don’t like that.”
“I can see that,” Eren mumbles. You shoot him a half hearted glare, and he puts up his hands in a placating motion.
You fish the button from your pocket, running your fingertips across the rough texture of the thread. “This shouldn't be up to us,” you mumble. “Do you really have no other future memories of me? Anything that could help explain this?”
Your eyes are glued to the button, so you only hear how Eren shuffles in place by the tell tale sound of crinkling fabric under his weight.
“...No,” he says after a few seconds. “Nothing that could explain that.”
“Really?” You turn to him. “Because I would’ve thought—”
“Didn’t Zeke tell you anything?” he interrupts. “As much as I don’t trust him—and I still think you shouldn’t have told him—” —you roll your eyes— “he may know why. Or how. Or what. Did he…summon you somehow? From wherever you’re from, I mean.”
“Well, he wasn’t there there for my arrival,” you shrug. “Yelena and Onyankopon were, but I think that's a dead end no matter who I talk to. Yelena won’t tell me anything, assuming she knows something, and I don't think they would trust Onyankopon with the information.”
“That’s the blonde lady, right?” he asks.
You nod. “She’s like, prohibited from meeting you. I think it's a little funny I’m not, even though I see her sometimes.”
“So that’s where you disappear to from time to time then.”
“I guess so,” you say. “She’ll be there when we go to the harbor next time. Niccolo will be there too if I remember correctly.”
“Niccolo?” Eren asks, straightening up.
“A Marleyan chef,” you explain. “Not important in a doomsday kind of way, but this whole thing hinges on people changing their point of view of Eldians. He’s one of the first to change his mind about the whole ‘devil’ thing.”
Eren purses his lips. “Fine.”
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
You raise an eyebrow, confused but not really knowing what to ask in order to get more out of him. With how little you guys have talked in the past few days, it is a miracle at all you are conversing instead of being reigned by the tense silence that followed you from Trost, where you rejected something you dare not name.
“...Sure,” you concede. “But we do need to think about what we are going to do next. Paradis needs to enter the world stage before it's too late.”
“When is ‘too late’?” Eren asks. “When my time is up?”
“No,” you say. “Four years before that. 854.”
He frowns. “But that’s in a little more than two years. No way can the world be swayed in two years.”
“Not by us, no,” you say. “But we have help on the way, do we not?” You tilt your head at him with a small smile, trying to convey whatever hope you can on your face. It is not the best scenario, but any where Eren is talking to you instead of brooding about the so-called inevitable is a win in your books.
“My brother.”
“Yes but also no,” you say. “I wrote him a letter with a message coded into it. I’ll see if the Hizuru envoy can help me deliver it later, when they arrive.” You shift in place. “Zeke is our connection to the world outside the island. I think we should exploit that.”
Eren hums, considering your words, not even batting an eyelash at your casual treason. “Did they help before—or in the story?”
“It wasn’t enough,” you say. “And they have many, many ulterior motives. Namely the resources on the island.”
“So we need to find someone else then,” he says, bringing a hand to his jaw. “Problem is, we have no way of searching or even contacting someone else by ourselves. Should we…leave?”
“Why is your first impulse always defecting?”
He tilts his head. “But I’ve never defected?”
You gesture with your hand. “Not now. Hopefully not ever.”
“I feel like I should read more into what you say,” Eren says, surveying you with a look that you can’t quite place the meaning of. “But I’ve already revised my own memories enough times, and I’ll probably go crazy if I pile up anything else on top of them.”
“Yeah,” you say, resting your head again against the wall. “It's funny, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Eren answers, voice softer than before.
“That I’m missing memories while you have extra.”
He makes something between a grunt and a snort. You lift the corners of your lips. “That’s one way to put it.”
“This whole situation would be hilarious if it was happening to someone else,” you mumble as your eyelid begins to turn heavy. “Or not really, but then I wouldn’t feel this sense of doom every time I’m awake.”
Eren shrugs. “I get nightmares, so sleeping is not much better.”
“I don't really remember my dreams,” you say. “Guess I’m kinda grateful for that—don’t tell Armin, but his titan scared the shit out of me when I first saw it. And the crawling dude halfway across the island made me shiver too.”
“I dunno why they keep it—him alive, honestly,” Eren says, a little too bluntly for your taste. “I think it's because they still hold hope that he could turn human again, like Connie’s mom.” His eyes flit to you again. “Can they?”
“Either someone would need to ask Ymir to turn them back or titan powers would need to cease to exist.”
“I assume that's what happened then.”
You scratch the back of your neck. “The first one is a conjecture, but the second one…well, yeah that's how it ends.”
Eren slumps against the wall, curtain of brown hair once again obscuring his face. You don't need to ask what he's thinking about—you have a pretty good idea of where his train of thoughts is leading him right now.
“...Is it so bad? They leave Paradis alone. Titans no longer exist.”
“Are you asking me if it's bad to slaughter the world?” you say incredulously.
“They’re never going to accept us, Y/n,” he says, roughness in his voice akin to that of uncharted roads. “Look, I'm not saying we resort to that now. But we have to have options.”
Few times have you been at total loss for words. There is always some casual topic at the back of your mind, prepared to aid you when a conversation turns sour. But this—this is not something you want to poke.
“I’m sorry, would you rather follow Zeke’s plan?” he continues. “I don’t even know what it is, but from what I’ve heard, it's probably something equally messed up.”
“No, yeah, it's complete bullshit,” you agree. “Still doesn’t mean we should resort to genocide though.”
“So we should just kneel and let them kill us?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth—”
“Easy for you to say, when you plan to dip the moment an opportunity arises.”
Another slash goes through your heart. It's different from the stinging sensation you've felt before. It's more real, less so melancholic and more centered in the moment you are living now. You can tell the smallest hint of regret light up his eyes when the words leave his mouth, but the damage is done.
But if there is one thing you’ve become a master of is taking things that hurt you and shoving them down, down, down, to a void where they can't come back from.
“You don’t mean that, so I’m going to ignore it,” you say. But for all you preach about not caring, your voice breaks a smidge at the end of your statement. “And I’ll let you know that, if anything, I’m involving myself so you don’t fucking die.”
That serves to shut him up, regret now flooding his face completely, posture slightly hunched on the edge of the bed that now seems so far away from you. You hate to make excuses for him, you really do, but fighting is only going to make things worse. Eren needs to get a grip, fast, and while it's not your responsibility to make him see that, you still don't want to make any unnecessary conflict with your only true ally in the game.
“...I didn’t,” he says. You can only assume that he is referring to what you just said. “But if there’s no other way…”
He trails off, but you can easily complete his statement. Should your own plan, whatever it might evolve into, fail, he is willing to forfeit his own life in what you think will most certainly mirror his original path, only now with you as an unlucky witness.
“There’s always a way,” you say. Although you say it with as much confidence as you can muster, you feel a bit like a liar.
It's strange how Eren’s expression changes with the second when he's with you. More so given the quilt of impassive emotions he wraps around himself.
“Keep saying that,” he says. “And one day I might just believe you.”
Someone else would take those words as the mocking platitude they are on paper. But you see them as hope. Hope which is not so easily kept.
He waves bye when you cross his threshold again, and you shut the door slowly to avoid any unnecessary creaking.
No one catches you walking around after hours, and you make it to your room without any unexpected surprises. The letter you had written before is still sitting at your desk, next to the ink and borrowed pen. You meant to return it, but Hange will have to settle for getting it back tomorrow, as you don’t feel like walking to their room without a good reason.
Speaking of Hange—you think while you flop onto bed—you need to tell them about the Hizuru envoy before they arrive. You don’t remember how many trips the important lady from the nation was on. If she came directly to negotiate or if a representative came first to scope the situation.
No matter, you would know soon anyways, as your group is due for another visit at any moment. Still, first on your list of priorities is revealing some more things to Hange. Just like you planned at your trial; you would offer up useful information from time to time to keep your worth, but not enough as to invalidate it.
i love your age-gap bobby drabbles,, but i was wondering if we could get some with president jack as well? being his little wife feels wonderful to me
being president!john f. kennedy’s young wife lacy says. happy birthday mr president…
the only blatant indication of the significant gap between you two was in your regularly flaunted titles for each other; his iconic kid and your snide old man kennedy - which was in stark contrast to a letter you once found, when moving him out of his senate office, crumpled and tucked far away in a drawer of his desk, that repeatedly referred to him as “young kennedy”, curiously and rather mysteriously signed by a simple Binga - but without those tantalizing and notorious pet names, it wasn’t so plain to the naked eye that you were younger than even his littlest brother.
frequently would he remark that joe sr. had once asked, “are you sure she’s not better fit for teddy?” - his father’s obvious belief that women were expendable and could be given around in a circle, on frightening display - and that jack replied curtly, standing his ground, one of the only times he ever had, when declaring, “no, she’s best fit for me, and i believe i love her.”
he adored how you stood beside him, bright eyed with a dazzlingly smile that the masses were instantly captivated by; he felt an innate, practically paternal, pride when you shuffled closer to him during events, the way you’d perpetually be searching for his hand to hold or arm to grasp. he enjoyed how you immediately stood straighter when he placed a hand on the nape of your neck, curling his fingers very lightly around the slopes into your shoulders, in the slightest bout of possession; not that anyone didn’t already know you were mrs.kennedy, but he reveled in staking claim on a prize nearly everyone coveted.
almost every trip of his that you were allotted to attend, you did; “mrs.lincoln, call mrs.kennedy upstairs and patch me through, would you?” he’d shout from the oval, already picking up the receiver, leaning back in his chair, and tapping his pointer to his teeth while he waited for you to answer; when your voice would finally crack through, a simply, “hi, jack,” he’d feel instant gratification without having even spoken yet.
“i’m expected in the tristate next week, and would very much like you to come along,” his voice was smoother than honey, doused in his boston accent that you too began to ever so slightly develop.
your response was always the same and always immediate, he couldn’t help but feel a stiffening at his groin from your blind obligatory and totally devout agreement, “i’ll begin a packing list now.”
“and, uh, i’ll see what i can do about having that tiffany piece you’ve been eyeing waiting here when we return, okay?”
you suspected he enjoyed giving gifts even more than you enjoyed receiving them; any occasion he could find a work around to adorn you in a new something, he would. in part for your overt excitement and gratitude, but also because he understood who he was and how he acted - he knew he could violently independent, verbal expressions of his true and absolute admiration being few and far between, so he found it imperative that you have any and all tokens of his love, a physical reminder of what he felt for you.
“what a beautiful watch, mrs.kennedy!” a passing reporter had once exclaimed to you, the long line of cameras and journalists eyes suddenly panning down to focus on your wrist.
“oh, thank you very much; the president gifted it to me,” the president, you always called him when referring, or even addressing, him publicly; inherently putting him above anyone else - including yourself - in the room, placing him on the mystical and authoritative pedestal you believed he existed on. your statement landed while peering down at it yourself, a daintily small square-faced cartier wristwatch.
jack, looming from over your shoulder, smiled up at the slew of onlookers, and replied to no one in particular, “suits her just right, doesn’t it?”
when on said accompanied trips, spending long hours on air force one, traveling to and fro, he’d slump down in the same seat towards the back of the plane, kicking his legs out in front of himself and sinking down to a more comfortable recline for his back. you’d either be chatting away politely with other attendants or be sat quietly across the aisle from him, relaxing in your own right from the day since past.
occasionally, he’d glance your way, as if suddenly remembering he has a wife - not seemingly forgetting for any reason other than his jumbled brain being full of other thoughts and obligations - and with an extended arm, hand pointed out to receive, he’d simply say, “hey, kid?”
turning your attention to him, happy to be called upon, he’d beckon you to him with a head nod; in a ‘come over here’ manner. and, naturally, there wasn’t a single thought given as you’d stalk to him, entering the space of his arm which would wrap so neatly below your waist - his hand would rest directly on your ass, though it was hardly an act of sexual engagement, more a form of comforting and familiar touch as he’d glide up and down the plush fabric of your dress.
he’d look up at you with a lazy, albeit true, smile, enjoying how your fingers immediately went to loosening his tie for him, a diligent task he’d be too tired to do himself, regardless of a nagging discomfort. “you did real good today,” he’d say, or, “i like this dress on you, you look very nice.” perhaps it was because his line of sight was only you or because he felt an onslaught of rare lovesickness to care, but he’d speak candidly, as if it was only you two, alone in your own habitation.
sometimes you’d sit yourself in his lap, though it wasn’t ever uninvited, rubbing along his tense and knot filled shoulders as you spoke mundanely; thoughts you had throughout the events of the day that you’ve bookmarked to tell him, lingering whispers of gossip you’ve only just now remembered to spill, or simply what you felt of his speech, given a earnest, though very clearly bias, review. he’d hang onto your every word, the best listener one could wish for, nodding along the entire time as he periodically tucked loose hair behind your ear and absentmindedly ran his thick fingers over your legs which were thrown over his.
he felt an odd sense of responsibility for you, striving for your own success as much as his; he’d ensure you were as much apart of it all as he was, keeping you as informed as a advisor and utilizing your youthful air to build your joint legacy. each time he watched you singlehandedly charm a dignitary or whole nations, he’d lean to whomever was beside him and whisper, “that’s our girl. remarkable, isn’t she?”
