Euhmae25 - Mamamae

꒰ྀི 𝐵𝐿𝒰𝐸 𝒟𝑅𝐸𝒜𝑀 ꒱ྀི

꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ word count 29.4kay , prequel to 2w&l [ can be read as a stand alone ] , black hyper fem reader ! , brother's [ former? ] best friend eren , ony and eren r bestiez , reader'z 19 in dis , ony + eren are 23 , bisexual eren , bisexual ony , tattoo artist eren , auto designer ony , some miscommunication , reader has a panic attack , crybaby reader , switches povs a lot in dis ! ! be warned , flirting , ony says da n - word a few times , virginity loss , lotsa cum omgie , big dicks ony + eren , eren has a dick piercing , daddy kink , oral sex [ fem. receiving ] , masturbation , cum swallowing , praisepraisepraise , reader's not particularly chubby however she iz described wif a soff' tummy , all of da feelings rllie jump out in d end , endin's also kind of abrupt cuz i doooo wna expand more on da sexual dynamic of da relationship :] will do so later . [ also on aO3 ]

𝜗ϱ 𝓁𝓊𝓋 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝓂 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 . . . phew ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ ∩꒱ྀིა finally ! are u happie she'z here ?? took mi like . . over a month 2 write dis . story title is inspired by dis song . Minors , Ageless Blogs Do Not Touch ! ! ! !

“ ‘teoooo!” 

black, thick heeled, mary jane loafers drum against the burnished, cherry oak panels of flooring. tiptaptiptaptiptap. a girl’s little hand reaches out for the curved doorframe, using it for leverage to stop her body from propelling forward, to keep her legs from continuing to pump and sprint past it, as she pokes her head into a bedroom. 

sheer, dandelion yellow curtains billow atop of a warm, spring breeze. the current is smooth and gentle; flies over the desk that sits diagonal from the window, drawing attention to an algebra two textbook that sits open atop of it whose thin pages seem to shyly bid her hello, and a binder right beside it. 

empty.

a wee, mean pout graces your lips, plush and glazed over with the sweet, artificial, watermelon flavoring of a lollipop to which’s stick you hold between small fingers, and to further showcase your ever-growing frustration, as if your groans and huffs weren’t enough, you stomp your foot prior to lifting your chin and belling out a firm, “ 'teo!” 

he’s not in his room, in the backyard, nor the kitchen. 

‘mateo’s a teenager now,’ you’ve heard your mother tell her friends last week over raspberry iced teas and fruit tarts after their book club meeting. you’d been a few feet away from where the six of them sat on the veranda, crouched within the shimmering, sun warmed palette of grass as you held out a slightly trembling finger right atop the tip of a blade of green where a particular, stubborn ladybug had landed to coax him to climb upon. ‘he goes to school, eats us out of house and home, does his chores, then holes up in the basement. i don’t like it, but — it isn’t the toddler days so, i guess i can’t be too mad.’

the basement.

once more, the tapping staccato of your mary jane’s echo throughout the otherwise quiet home as you race downstairs, make a sharp right at the end of the railing, then come face to face with a shut door.

‘open it and freddy kreuger’s goin’ to snatch you in, slit your stomach, and replace your guts with maggots and worms,’ casually, mateo had informed you of your awaited fate six months ago while standing upon the bottom stair, tuna melt in hand, and toasted breadcrumbs decorating his chapped lips. ‘stay out of the basement. you have your playroom and i have mine.’

the entire family had been well aware of your more than grave fear of the rubberfaced boogeyman after a sleepover with your friends to celebrate your tenth birthday two years ago. you’d snuck the dvd out of mateo’s media console cabinet after you were sure he and your parents had fell asleep, furthermore, all five of you girls woke them up with screams and sobs only about a half hour into the film. let this also be commended as the day where your first panic attack struck — it was that bad.

and while your parents use freddy as means of a reprimand to keep you from rising up on your tip toes to reach the highest shelf in the pantry and, quite literally, jam your sticky, little hands into the cookie jar, or maintain good grades . . . mateo uses it to keep you out of his space.

discounting the trembling of your fingers and throat knotting with a lump big enough to induce you to feel as though you’d choke and faint at that same moment, you reach for the gold handle of the doorknob. 

you’re a brave girl — the bravest of them all. 

“. . . ‘teo?” your voice is a meek whimper as the door is pushed til only a slither of space separates it from the threshold. 

the case of stairs leading down to the flat level of the basement are made of thick, solid wood. because of the boards being so inured, the sound of the soles of your shoes landing on them seem to be amplified as you cautiously begin to step down, one by one.

“mateo?” it’s only right that your fear starts to transcend and tiptoe a line of irritation. you feel as though you’re quite literally risking your life, dancing with the devil, all in efforts just to let your big brother know that your mother told him to separate his laundry by wash cycle specification. how stupid.

the closer you get to the bottom, the louder comes the sound of applause, cheers, and, oddly, the deep tenors of multiple voices. 

the corners of your lips are tugged downwards when you take in the scene in front of you. 

it isn’t dust covered boxes toppled to the brim with old photo albums, deceased loved ones clothes, old radio sets, and aged, money collecting antiques that decorate your basement — no, your father had the space renovated and constructed into something more akin to a lounge a week after you all moved into the home. 

the ac is cranked up to its max. a sharp waft of cool air flies over your plaid skirt and through the locs of your braids. on the sixty inch flat screen television is a video game’s loading screen — madden, and seated on the loveseat, back angled to face you, is a boy.

aslant from him, is your brother lounged across a large bean bag chair, playstation controller in hand, a can of cherry coke at his socked feet, and bag of chester hot fries upon his lap. he’s chewing on what looks like a handful of them, murmuring, “ ‘m gonna whoop your ass, jaeger. watch this.” while crumbs fly out of his mouth with enough force to compare to bullets. 

you cringe at the sight, prior to finally making yourself known.

“mateo.”

two heads snap towards you, and you happen to meet a green eyed stare first. 

if asked, you wouldn’t have been able to describe it back then — the immediate shock your heart seems to undergo as it bunny hops over its usual, steady beat then begins to pound against the corral of your ribs. a simple glance from him has your painted nails sinking into the meat of your palms until a bloom of red bordered them. similar to a spooked fawn, you stand there for a moment, knees trembling as the toes of your feet begin to idly turn inwards towards one another. 

the thing is, you’ve always been a bit of a shy girl, opting to stand behind your parents’ legs when being introduced to one of their friends or a long distanced family member. never have you been able to place your own order at a drive thru’s window or raise your hand in class, granted you almost always knowing the answers . . nonetheless, you don’t think this current feeling compares to those. it’s something deeper — more fierce. at a minimum, you were always able to mumble your name or shake a hand when being introduced, albeit, after mateo does such — ‘sorry, man. this my lil’ sis ( ❤︎ ). ( ❤︎ ), this eren, say hi,’ you’re only able to fester enough courage to lift a hand and flutter your shaking fingers. 

eren is your brother’s age, you can tell. he wears from what you could see, a plain black tee with a band’s name, nirvana, you read, printed on the front. his hair is tapered cleanly at the back, however, a bit long in the front, a few strands fall into his eyes that blink plainly at you before he gives a polite, closed mouth smile and holds up his hand. “hey, ‘s cool to meet you.” a thin strip of titanium runs horizontally across the top row of his flawless, white lines of teeth and you let your eyes drag across the four rubber bracelets he wears on his left wrist, two, tiny blemishes near his jawline, ‘til finally, you let them land on the fine dark hairs that line the top of his plump, upper lip. nadeshiko — you’d been taught the word a few weeks ago by one of your friends who was japanese. ‘it’s a really, really pretty shade of pink. kinda like bubblegum.’ 

nadeshiko pink was the color of them. they shined subtly, whether it be by chapstick or rather him quickly licking them prior to speaking, you don’t know. but they were pretty . . he was pretty.

“mm,” you fist the fabric of your skirt in a fist. an uncomfortable warmth begins at the peak of your nose before you feel it blossoming to both your cheeks. “m-mommy wants you, ‘teo.”

your brother lets his head fall back before giving a short groan and setting his controller down to then stand, “alright. hol’ on, bro. i’ll be back.”

you follow close behind him when he starts to trudge up the stairs, skipping two at a time. unable to help it, you spare a single last glance of eren before the sight of him is hidden behind the wall once more, albeit, alone in your room, you can’t help but pout upon the realization that he’d been reimmersed into the video game, not another regard of you given.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

you hadn’t known what the feeling was.

you just knew that you really, really, really liked being around eren. following the months after meeting him for the first time, eren pops up at your house at a more increasing extent. every friday, sometimes saturdays, a few thursdays, a rare tuesday. a glance of him lounging upon the living room couch, one, long leg sprawled along the cushioned arm, stare heavy and long as he gazed at the television was always just enough for you to feel that exact sensation of queasy warmth just as you did in the basement.

you’d watch him smile with your brother, watch the magnificent sea green of his eyes glimmer before they’d tightly shut in order for him to throw his head back and emit the most prettiest bellow of laughter from the pit of his stomach, and sometimes, shards of jagged, tined ice would skirt the edges of that queasy warmth come the realization that mateo got to see that same, striking grin everyday.

“alright, ma’. we headin’ to jj’s party — i’ll be home by eleven like you said.”

parties, parks, football games, basketball courts, you’d never seen your brother hang out with someone as much as he does eren. 

kindled summers peppered with warm nights and the comforting buzz of fireflies and cicadas phase into the chambré days of autumn, and soon, that becomes a frosty winter, heaving with dim, caliginous skies and porcelain mugs the shape of gingerbread houses with creamy, hot cocoa. indubitably, enters spring — with the fresh budding of flowers, warm rain, and new swelling of leaves upon branches. and the cycle begins anew.

you watch eren grow. you watch him grow out the thick, chocolate waves of his hair until it reaches his mid back, then, you also watch him cut it all off again. his style of clothing transforms, what was once band tees, faded jeans, and vans becomes air force ones, new balances, and jordans. more loose jeans and sweats, hoodies, and beanies. his retainer is retired to only night wears, he’d told your mother, and his acne smoothens over into flawless, warm tan skin after a trip to the dermatologist and a prescription. you watch eren become a man, and naturally, your feelings for him triple. 

it’s only fair that you feel a little bit blue, seated within the balcony box of an auditorium as your new principle calls out his and mateo’s names to walk the stage and grab their diplomas. the smiles the two of them wear are nothing short of bright and wide as they do. fighting to hide your pout, you stand behind the jittering, bustling bodies of your parents, aunt, and grandmother, after the ceremony’s over, watching them take what seemed like a million pictures and videos of the two boys on their day, until you’re ultimately nudged by your mother between them. “picture with your sister, mateo, c’mon! big smiles — you three are so cute. oh my god, michael, look at them!”

more than hyperaware of eren’s arm draped casually over the hill of your shoulder as he leans in with a smile, you struggle to keep from tensing up or trembling too much or as your arms go behind his and mateo’s backs. he’d smelt of fresh soap and cedarwood, that day — potent and electrifying. you scramble between feeling relived and bummed when the pictures are over and he’s giving mateo a goodbye hug. “i’ll see you later, man. probably tomorrow or somethin’,” he’s smiling after pulling away. “you know me.”

“oh, for sure,” mateo nods. “go find your moms. tell her i said hi.”

he gives you one last wave and you return it with a warm smile.

for years to come, that’d be the last memory you’d have of eren jaeger.

with mateo off to college and you a freshmen in high school, it’s difficult to find intel on where he’d gone. he had fled the city, that was for sure, nonetheless, no one knew where, not even mateo. “he always told me he wanted to be a tattoo artist . . you can’t do that in the suburbs,” clarified your brother on his rare visit home for thanksgiving. “eren’s never had social media either so,” he shrugged, face smoothed over with indifference. “hopefully he’s okay wherever he is.”

you suppose it’s true when they say high school is one of the fastest four years of your life. it’s all a blur. 

with you participating on the student council, school newspaper, and being vice captain of the cheer squad, your extracurricular activities bring not only a lot of attention, but more friends. heedless to say, by the end of your senior year, almost everyone knows your name. you’re crowned as ‘the sweetest’ and ‘most likely to be successful’ within the yearbook and accepted into the most prestigious university two states over from where your parents lived, bringing you here today.

it’s now your sophomore year of college. the first year had been something . . enervating, you’d say. you had hardly even left your dorm — opting to stay in and enroot yourself into the monstrous sludge that is college level assignments. freshmen fifteen had caught you by the throat, reason being pizza, instant ramen, and iced coffee had become your meal staples, nevertheless, while some of the calories had made your tummy softer, most of such had gone to your thighs, hip, and butt, spreading them wider and filling you up from where you’d lack come the years before. 

today, you’re nineteen. it’s only the second month of the semester and you’re already studying for two midterms. 

“okay, so, what about tomorrow?”

you shake your head from where you sit, butterfly style, in the cushioned seat of your desk chair, laptop open onto the window of an electronic textbook and upon your legs as you click a pink star by a sentence to remind future you to paraphrase and write down in your notebook. “mm-mm, gigi. tomorrow i plan to catch up on sleep.”

your roommate, giselle, is nothing short of a character. on first greetings, she’d been quiet and kind — allowing you to choose which side of the room you wanted first, inviting you out to the dining hall with her, bringing you back snacks from her trip to the market. over time, shimmers of her personality began to show. she’s kind of loud, energetic, stubborn, fun . . always down for a night out. it shocks you how she still maintains anything above a three point o’. 

she sits upon her bed, compact mirror in hand that she holds dangerously close to her eye where she adjusts a strip lash upon, “mm, what about sunday?”

“uh uh.”

“okay, next thursday?”

“cramming for a quiz.”

giselle lets her arms flap onto her lap as she fixes you with an exhausted stare, “friday, then.”

“can’t. visiting my parents next weekend.”

“oh my god.”

she throws her head back, “seriously, ( ❤︎ ). can we fucking hang out for once? i never see you outside of this room.”

you play with a ring on your finger, twisting it left and right while you hesitate, “i dunno, gi.” 

giselle stands, lengthening herself to of her beautiful, five foot nine glory, then begins to scoop her knee length, knotless braids up into a high ponytail while walking over to you, “tonight then. just me, you, and like two of my other friends. we’re gonna go to a bar, my big cousin works there, she can sneak us a shot or two — it’ll be fun. we’ll only be there ‘til like, ten thirty.”

quietly, you mull her words over. last time you went out’d been a few months back . . a house party. it was fun, lots of fun if you decide to be completely honest with yourself. your brain incurred a break from persistent studying and when back in lectures the few days after, your focus and diligence inflated. you suppose it’s time for a break, to indulge in life’s simple pleasures again. why not? 

“okay,” you melt where you sit, trying your best to give giselle an upset frown though your wide grin breaks it each time. 

“okay, okay!” she squeals and bounces on her toes while running back to her bed to grab her phone. “hurry! get ready, i’m gonna text them and let you know you’re finally comin’ outside again.”

you make sure to save your progress and power your mac off while rolling your eyes, “this better be fun.”

“it isssss! i swear, i promise, for real.”

it takes you almost two and a half hours to get ready. you haven’t shaved in almost a month, therefore, your shower routine gets bumped up to an even forty five minutes due to you needing to exfoliate your skin with a yummy, vanilla and cocoa butter scented sugar scrub and lather shaving cream across your body. you get dressed then do your make up and hair, and by the time you’re grabbing your purse, giselle advises you of the awaiting uber outside.

“won’t your cousin, like . . . get in trouble for what she’s doing?” warily, you ask the question while gazing at the shadows of passing streetlights and open signs coasting along the features of her face.

glossed lips purse as giselle shakes her head, “owner’s never there. she basically owns it herself, honestly.”

you decide to take her word for it. the bar is named ‘ the grove. ‘ it’s located on the more opulent and lavish side of the city, a fifteen minute drive out from your school. the gray bricked building sits on the corner of a main street, right beside a rooftop dining restaurant. tinted, glass double doors shield the interior of the establishment from passing onlookers and upon first entry, the first thing you notice is the lighting. warm and dim, it encrusts the bar with an ambience of intimacy. to the right of you is the bar wall, it reaches what could be the ceiling, if not for the balcony that hovers over it, full to the edges with bottles of alcohol. the bar counter stretches for about twenty feet. it curves in then out, forming a design of what looks like the infinity sign with bustling bartenders filling the two holes of space between. 

you’re nervous.

never having been to a place like this before, you struggle with the decision of opting to sit at the actual bar, the few round tables in front of the small platform of the stage, the curtained off sofas along the edges of the wall, or up on the balcony. providentially, after likely viewing how tight your spine tenses directly after you both stepped pass the threshold, giselle intertwines the fingers of her hand within your own to tug you over to the bar, near the middle where her other two friends sit. 

greetings and hugs are shared. you recognize the two of them — jasmine and lana. you often see them at social events around campus and a few parties. similar to giselle, the two of them are what you’d also call social butterflies, floating here then there, next to you one minute, then carrying a conversation with someone new the next. you take a seat upon a stool beside your friends, tugging down the bottom hem of your tiny, pink, velvet skirt before you do. “what’s gonna be your drink of choice today, hm?” lana rubs her shoulder against yours, giving you a smirk while tapping her nail against her own glass. “i’ve got a manhattan.”

timidly, you shrug, eyes scanning the laminated menu a few inches away from you. “uh . . pina colada?”

immediately, an accord of giggles are heard. your responding pout is precious, “can y’all not?”

“no, no — nana,” giselle waves a woman over to where you all sit. you take it that she’s her cousin, the two of them share a few features, although slight. giselle introduces you to her prior to stating, “four shots of casa, an amf, and pina colada, pretty please?”

“mm, all for you?” teasingly, nana lifts an eyebrow while reaching for four shot glasses under the counter. giselle’s previous bambi eyed expression levels out in order for a more smug to soon replace it, “well, duh, of course!” she’s snickering when you nudge her calf with a foot. “ugh, for all of us, nana. don’t be like that.”

“mhm. sure, sure.”

it takes about an hour for you to get it — for you to understand why so many enjoyed frequenting bars and dwelling within the establishments when their lives were either at their highest of highs or lowest of lows. with the components of two shots and a pina colada intertwining and embedding themselves within the vessels of your body, you loosen up and begin to enjoy yourself. it’s a nice place to be and get away without worrying about real life’s problems. the four of you girls busy yourselves with the latest campus gossip, about which professors were pissing you off the most and which you’d sleep with if boiled down to you needing some extra credit near the end of the semester— very juvenile, albeit . . . fun.

after one more shot is when your eyes begin to wander.

they stray from paying attention to lana as she rants about what caused the latest breakup between her and her girlfriend to the end of the bar on your right. an older woman, you suppose around mid thirties, busies herself on her phone while a glass of cognac sits next to a tan birkin bag on her left. you trail them across a group of buddies there, a couple here, lonely man there, until you land on a man.

he’s seated on the left, at the ‘ curve ‘ of the infinity where the bar rounds out.

your eyes squint with suspicion come the rising feeling of uncertainty, excitement, and . . unfortunately nausea as you stare quietly.

he sits with a friend, nodding along to whatever he’s saying while picking through a small basket of french fries. he’s . . beautiful, you find. a certain mystic charm that surrounds the air of where he sits — that freezes you in place, though sucks you in all the while. his hair is a bit long. he turns his head to gaze into his acquaintance’s eyes and say something, quickly, you steal a glimpse of the messily wrapped bun sitting at the nape of his neck. though the lighting of the bar is dim, you force yourself to keep watching . . to keep staring ‘cause . . . fuck . . why does he look so familiar?

“. . . ( ❤︎ )?”

vaguely, within the far pocket of your mind, you hear giselle calling your name.

the guy smiles — its a big one, reveals almost all thirty two of his teeth as it pushes smile lines and dimples into his cheeks. 

“. . eren?”

your feet is moving before you’re able to process it. you stumble on the first few steps, feet needing to slow down with your mind, before you’re flipping back the curls of your sew in and righting your posture. 

giselle groans, “oh my god, this girl is drunk. watch my purse — ( ❤︎ )!”

“eren?”

two heads turn when they hear his name. you’re only able to catch a blur bordered glance of his friend before your focused is directed towards him. god, you feel as though you’re twelve all over again. you’d thought that he couldn’t get any more attractive, nonetheless, he did. he wears a black, leather varsity jacket, badges of suede patched all over it with a clean, white tee underneath and thin, diamond chain dangling from the smooth column of his neck. eyes of cold teal study you for a moment — your eyes, your lips, your nose. he seems to scan each and every feature prior to the glacial irises of his own melt and a slow smile starts to spread across his lips. 

“nah, no fuckin’ way,” he mutters.

a nipping chill rakes the cord of your spine.

your eyes have to rise an entire foot higher come the action of him standing to his full height and soon pulling you in by the sides of your ribs to then wrap you in a tight hug. “( ❤︎ ), what the fuck, man?”

you giggle, unable to contain your excitement, “eren, oh my gosh.”

“what the f—“ he pulls away to hold you at arm’s length and take you in. a longer sweep of his eyes from the pristine lines of white that glosses the tips of your toes to the cushioned headband holding your bangs back on your head has something alien twinkling within the depths of sea green, and you, too engrossed in the sight, the scent, the feel of finally your eren, hardly notice the lingering stare upon your midsection before they trail up to your collarbones, lips, then eyes. licking his own, smile lessening to a smirk, eren lets you go to soon lean his back on the bar counter while folding his arms, “what you doin’ here, lil girl?”

you’re aware of giselle behind you when she touches your waist, “oh, ‘m here with m’friends from school. this is giselle.”

giving a polite smile, giselle leans in to shake eren’s hand, “hi, sorry. i thought she was walking up to some random ‘cause,” dearly, as if you both were two pups in a pin, she tips her head against yours and you lean into her embrace with a big grin, “someone here drunk a little bit too much,” after, she hums, “i didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

“oh, yeah,” eren’s eyes are fixed directly upon your own. “we go way back.”

you flush. you simply can’t help it — how can one human being appear so captivating? “mhm,” you nod, head tipping a bit further back and chin falling much quicker than usual to be classified as anything but a motion of insobriety, “i knew eren when he was in high school, gi’ . . . and i was a, hic —, a tiny, baby ( ❤︎ ).”

giselle smirks, finding you all too cute, “is that right?”

“mhm.”

she turns to eren, “so, i take it you guys wanna,” a finger is waved between you both. “catch up? talk a bit?”

eren drawls a low, “of course, of course,” while smiling. “ ‘m gonna get some water in her. ‘ve never seen her like this before.”

“ima be watching,” cutting her eyes, giselle gives eren a quick examine. “i’ll be back to get her soon.”

with her gone, you realize her grip on your waist had been what was stabilizing you from falling straight onto your face. gradually, you began to tip forward onto the rounds of your toes, however, eren is quick to catch and guide you to sit down onto the stool he’d been occupying, “okay, okay,” he murmurs, reaching for the glass of water beside the basket of fries. “you good? you feel okay?”

you sip from his straw, grateful for the cool liquid, “mhm,” you hum quietly. “gi says ‘m a lightweight.”

a low chuckle is heard on your left. you turn your head to discern the cause and notices it had split from the lips of eren’s friend. the tone of his skin is a gorgeous, warm toned dark brown. a red sox cap is positioned backwards on his head full of waves and low irises of toasted, somber auburn shines brightly within rings of pink. you discover that he’s pretty, too. your nerves ignite at the ends, as if sparked by a match. suddenly, you’re hyperaware of everything you do — how you sit, how you talk, how you breathe.

you press your soft palms against the fluff of cheeks, willing some composure while watching a plump droplet of water race down the surface of the chilled glass veiled in condensation, “sorry,” you can’t help but murmur. 

“nah, you good, ma.”

quickly cognizant of never having introduced the two of you, eren softly says, “shit, sorry. ( ❤︎ ), this is . . this is ony. ony, this ( ❤︎ ).”

timidly, you give a small, nonetheless warm smile and hold a hand out, “nice to meet you.”

ony takes it softly within his own, the sheer expanse of it completely dwarfing your little paw as he gives it two, slow rises of up and down. his eyes never part from yours as he mumbles a soft, “likewise. it’s a pleasure.”

when you pull away, you reach for the glass of water again — wrap your lips around the straw and gather enough of it inside your mouth to make your cheeks bulge, prior to swallowing.

“so, why you out here, hm?” eren leans the side of his body against the counter once more. “your parents know you out in a bar? there’s no way you’re twenty one yet, i know that for a fact.”

you give a weak shove to his bicep. call it a cheap shot, whatever. you aren’t surprised to find that just as the rest of him had grew, his muscles have bulked up, too. “don’t be a snitch, eren,” you sniffle and shake your head. “ ‘m . . ‘m nineteen. ‘m grown.”

his eyebrows lift, “oh, you grown?”

“i’m grown.”

pushing his tongue against the lush warmth of his cheek, eren smirks before slowly nodding, “okay. alright.” he grabs the basket of fries with two fingers hooked and slides them in a beeline til they were in front of you, “bet y’lil ass didn’t even eat today before you came here,” he mumbles underneath his breath. “eat. you can’t tell me no.”

you weren’t planning to. you take a few between your fingers and bite into them, “. . i’ve missed you,” the confession is grumped through a mean pout as you slowly chew. “you disappeared on me a-after graduation.”

stunned silent by your bluntness, eren only has enough brain power to stare at your pretty face for a spell that soon stretches into a quiet reply of, “ ‘ve missed you too . . i’m sorry about all that.”

“you hurt ‘teo’s feelings, too,” you swallow your fries, eyes focused on your finger that clasps into the open hole of the basket so that you can begin to twist it back and forth. “he acts like he doesn’t care, but i know he does. you were like, one of his only friends.”

you hear eren adjust himself. he turns to face the area behind you, lips parting for words to emit, until he ultimately clamped them closed, faces you again, and sighs, “i’m sorry . . really. i didn’t mean to . . ghost all of you like that. it was fucked up.”

“it was,” you nod in agreement. “wasn’t nice, eren.”

“mhm,” quietly, he admires you. “i know. was gonna pop over one day and surprise you guys, but,” he sucks some air in between his teeth and rubs at the diamond stud that pierces through the skin of his earlobe. “got scared, you know?”

“mm, yeah?” you tilt your head when you look up at him. 

and won’t you look at that . . .

eren decides this is the moment where he realizes you aren’t a shy, timid, spoiled little girl anymore. you wear lengthy, cat eyed wispies along your lash line and they seem to flutter as you blink softly at him. he tries not to glance at your tits that sit up nice and full within your long sleeved, square necked top, at your soft, bare thighs because your skirt just had to be so fucking short that you’d might as well have came out the house in a belt — because this is his former best friend’s baby sister.

he’s watched you grow up just as you did him. 

in the years knowing you before, he’s never looked at you as nothing more than mateo’s sister. he’d greet you sometimes when he would catch sight of you seated at the dining room table completing your homework assignments. on a rare day would he tease you and pluck the tail end of a braid, finish the rest of your favorite apple juice, all in efforts to be an inconvenience and make you whine. in a way, he supposes he began to look at you as a sister, too.

though, tonight, he forces himself to realize that you both are older now . . grown.

you’ve gotten those pretty tits played with before, maybe. by some insolent boy in grade eleven, in the back of his dad’s old pick up at a drive in movie theater. you’ve kissed and tasted and felt and yearned.

nonetheless of eren knowing this, he still can’t shake the feeling of wrongness that versos each of these thoughts. 

making himself look away, he licks his lips and grabs hold of the glass of water to take his own sip, “you don’t think i should?”

you smile — pretty ass smile. 

god, how puberty fucking blessed you. 

“no, no, i think you should,” you hum. “it’ll make us all happy — hey, why’d you come here, anyway?”

it appears as though your drunken, little mind races quicker than your mouth. you jump around on topics and slur your words, and as much as it is precious, eren figures he’d rather you be sober for any more heavy topics within your conversation. “work on tattoos. perfect my craft. build clientele. angelcrest was,” as if he could feel the weight of the town on his shoulders, eren flexes his shoulders and clears his throat. “stifling.”

again, you nod, “mhm, i get it. that’s why i had to leave — tattoos!” suddenly, you notice them. on his hands, fingers, knuckles, there’s a peek of ink coiling up the back of his neck. 

your eyes are round with fascination as you reach for his hand before flinching back. “can i . . — wait, permission,” you are suddenly reminded by your mother, ‘ don’t touch anyone without their consent first. ‘ you blush. of all days, of all times. “can i touch?”

eren grins. oh, you’re fucking adorable. “yeah, go ahead.”

silently, ony watches the two of you interact.

if he decides to be completely honest with himself . . it’s cute.

akin to a tiny, diffident lamb and an attentive, keen wolf — the two of you seem to dance around one another. hesitating with some of your words, pausing to let the other finish speaking first if one of you happened to accidentally talk over the other, trying to keep yourselves from making any sort of unnecessary physical contact. though eren has never mentioned you before prior to tonight, going off the conversation you two share and the obvious hug, ony realizes that the two of you share history. 

he hones in on how eren smiles at you, how he nudges the glass of water on over to get you to swallow a few more sips, makes you eat a bigger handful of fries.

truly, ony would believe the two of you were just strictly, old buds if not for how you unconsciously lean into the man. 

it’s somewhat comical due to the fact that eren isn’t being the slightest bit subtle neither. his eyes seem to tremble when they look into yours — it’s as though he’s fighting with himself to not give in and glance down at your plush, glossed up lips for the thousandth time or admire the graceful line of your neck, down to the smooth canvas of your bosom where a layer of dainty, gold chains lay upon. 

you both are train wrecks, nevertheless, ony can’t tear his sight elsewhere.

“shit, i know that university . . i live about twenty minutes away.”

you’re tilting your head again — in that same endearing manner you did before and ony watches the limbs of eren’s fingers grit, hitherto him shoving the fist into his coat’s pocket. “really?” your voice pitches an octave higher, coated with sweet wonder. “been thinkin’ about you all this time and you’ve only been twenty minutes away?”

eren shakes his head with a smirk, diverting his eyes to a crumpled, coffee shop’s receipt he tugs out from his jeans’ pocket and soon, a lone pen he finds laying beside the menu. “here.” swiftly, he jots down his number on the backside of the slip. “save it, hm? call me whenever you need me.”

always impeccable with her timing, giselle makes herself known after the receipt is folded and tucked safely into the waistband of your skirt. “okay,” you smile and turn towards ony. “it was so n-, hic—, nice to meet you . . ony. bye-bye guys.”

both men watch you stand to your feet and lean into giselle for balance. your friend wraps her arm around the dip of your waist, murmuring ‘i know, i know’s to your muddled giggles and faint babbling as you walk away. 

“. . . mm,” is all ony says with a slim leer, vigilant in how eren replaces your seat with a heavy sigh. a soft smile still graces the petals of his lips, in spite of the fact of you being long gone outside of the door and ony can’t help but ask, “y’all go way back, huh?”

facetiously, eren gives a long groan and ducks his head, “bro, don’t gimme that shit.”

ony chuckles, “nah, nah. she’s cute, jaeger. y’all used to be friends?”

with a slow shrug, eren dwells on that word, “. . not really — i don’t fuckin’ know. i used to be tight with her brother back when we was in high school, like when i was sixteen . . she was twelve. we didn’t really talk much, me and her, but we was cool.”

ony shoots back the rest of his whiskey, turning his focus to the bitter zing the alcohol leaves within the pillow of his mouth instead of letting the both of your interactions play out in his mind once more. the giggles, smiles, shy touches, and hums. sniffling, he casually utters, “i think lil ma has a crush.”

eren shakes his head. “shut the fuck up, o’.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

the worst day of your short lived, admittedly average life is on a thursday, two weeks after.

eren’s face might as well have been pressed and developed into film and looped on a projector within your brain — you can’t stop thinking about him. the sleepy eyed stare he subjected you to as you spoke, never tearing them away from your own not once, the graceful slope of his strong nose, hollow dimples, calloused hands, wide shoulders, it all makes your head go a bit fuzzy. the morning after had been a bit of a blur. subjected to needing giselle to give you the run down and clearer recaps of all that exactly happened, you end up cocooning yourself within the white polka dotted fleece of your favorite blanket while whining and begging her, “no, no. did i say that, really? please, gi, don’t tell me i said that.” as she went on to describe your behavior.

you suppose it’s rather clear that intoxicated you carries more, or rather less, of a filter on her in contrary to the sober.

nevertheless, you also think that you should thank her. sober you wouldn’t have approached eren at that bar, never in a million years. you’d have convinced yourself it wasn’t him, veritably, if soon realizing it was, you would have glued yourself to that stool you sat in, too anxiety ridden and meek to do anything but share an occasional, uncontrived peek in hopes that he’d notice you first.

sighing out, you adjust yourself within your bed, sinking deeper into the you-shaped indentation your body has molded the few hours before. your phone screen lays only inches away from your face, dimmed to its lowest possible setting. it’s currently three o’ eight am, you have to be up for class in approximately four hours. giselle’s soft snores normally are a comforting white noise, though tonight, you simply can’t get your mind to quiet down and focus on them.

an episode of bridgerton playing on your screen is soon swiped away so that you are able to open instagram.

liking a few stories here, commenting there, respond to a rare dm here . . . you find your thumb pressing down on that tiny magnifying glass and the blinking cursor seems to mock you as you hesitate.

fuck it.

eren’s phone number is soon typed into the search bar and without glancing twice at the username, you click upon the top result.

‘ jaeinkz ‘

a whopping total of nine hundred and twenty six thousand followers decorate the top of his page, adjacent to a label of two hundred and fifty five posts. 

“oh, wow,” can’t help but slip faintly from your lips as you push the satin fabric of your bonnet higher up your forehead, it’s as if you thought it had been obstructing your vision . . . making you perhaps see things that weren’t there, however, no, it’s true. eren’s profile picture is an image of his turned with a glistening, diamond bezel shining in the lobe of his ear and feathery strands of fawn escaping a beanie framing it. in his bio sits three tagged accounts ‘ @.mininkz @.mikakolors @.sashart ‘ with a booking email underneath. as you scroll, you find that his work is nothing short of exquisite. he seems to dabble in almost all styles — traditional, blackwork, geometric, and hand poke . . what sticks out to you the most, and what he seemed to love doing if going by how many have been posted along his page, had been watercolor.

you appreciate the diversity of his posts.

skin tones range from a nearly translucent pale to the deepest brown, and still, regardless of them all, marvelously, vibrant shades of ruby, orange, amber, cerulean, and lime leap out.

‘ incredible ‘ ‘ best artist out rs bro ‘ ‘ u killed dis shit E ‘ ‘ every time i think u can’t get any better u prove me wrong ‘

you find yourself smiling at the comments — why? you’re not too sure of the answer. maybe it’s because you’re simply proud. you were always sure that eren would have gone on to accomplish his dreams, frankly, you just weren’t positive that you’d ever be able to visually see it, albeit . . . here you are. it’s remarkable to witness.

it’s when you go to click on the post of a specific side rib piece when abruptly, the university’s inbuilt fire alarm bellows out. it makes your entire body lurch as giselle gasps herself awake.

“what the fuck?”

the continuous shriek of the siren bores uncomfortably into the drums of your ears and it’s when you’re slowly standing to gauge what was going on, comes the sound of doors opening and sleepy, discombobulated mumbling. it’s only right that the incessant, scarlet flashing of a firetruck’s emergency signal fulgurating in past your curtains follows suit.

“please exit the dorm! we need all students to exit the dorms as quick and calmly as possible!”

your fight or flight pummels into high gear as your RA begins to pound down the closed doors of your hall. you feel your heart commence to a familiar race with each second that passes. minutes are akin to hours while you and giselle hurry to pile and mound your suitcases and duffel bags with as much stuff as you’re able. with each bag you zip and each button you close, your lungs continuously compress and contract. they seem to fill with little to no air, no matter how deep of a breath you take. 

“just breathe, babe, yeah? i bet it’s something stupid. s-someone pressing their hair or something.”

you loathe it — it being the usual facade of your self control and composure slipping away with each gasping, shuddering breath you force yourself to take. air never seems to load your lungs, and you recognize that you’re gulping, an action you partake in with the intention of keeping away the agonizing feeling of your throat closing up each time this feeling happens.

“gotta call,” you’re mumbling as your hand knots within the fabric of giselle’s nightshirt as she leads you down the flight of stairs within the fire escape. “parents. my parents. my parents.” strangely enough, focusing more on your own words than the chaos of which surrounds you is enough to keep you from giving into your instincts of wanting to simply give up and lie down.

“see — look it,” giselle’s rubbing your shoulders when you both are standing on the curving curb outside. it’s cold tonight — a frigid forty degrees. all you’d wore to sleep was a tiny pair of white, cotton shorts and barely managed to slip into a hoodie before you left the room. you tremble. “jus’ breathe. in through your nose — hold it. mhm, good. now out, slow. see?’

it takes you a while to gather your previous poise and ease. with roaring blazes of crimson and blood orange dancing across the rooftop of your dormitory building, hysterical screams, and broken sobs lining the flumes of your ears, it’s not a question as to why. 

you suppose that it all gets a little bit blurry after that. time seems both bounded and limitless. students are quickly given the decision of choosing between leaving to stay with family who lived close by or be gathered inside of the library for the rest of the day to sleep . . . you’re tired. 

you’re so tired.

and somewhere near that inky, somber place enclosed by the bounds of your mind, you know that you shouldn’t do what you’re about to do . . . be that as it may, you cease yourself from traveling too far within that dangerous abyss of dubiousness as you click on a contact, place your phone to your ear, and wait. it rings . . and it rings . . and it rings until the line clicks as the person answers with a languid murmur of, “hello?”

swiftly clobbered with the feeling of ignominy, you swallow over the knot still encased within the channel of your throat prior to sniffling and uttering a quiet, “eren . . h-hi, ’s . . it’s ( ❤︎ ).”

susurration is heard. you assume he’s laying down within his bed, much like half of the world’s population is at this time, however, when he speaks once more, his voice is a bit more clear, as if he’d sat up to better hear you, “mm, yeah? hi, mama. wha’s goin’ on?”

your head swivels upon your shoulders in order for you to observe your surroundings — a few students sit on the curb with their bags, phones to their ears while they explained to their families or friends what was happening, some record the flames that now melt and char the windows of the dorm, the firemen working to put it out with long hoses, the reverberating sound of a helicopter’s blades spinning overhead and steady line of police cars pulling in through the iron gates.

unwittingly, the corners of your lips keel over as you slap a hoodie covered paw to your eyes to try and keep your tears at bay. it all overwhelms you in the worst of ways. you’re sure you’re being a crybaby, too sensitive, a wuss, nonetheless, you’re unable to help it, “i don’t k-know what to do, m-my dorms on fire, my parents live two hours out a-and i don’t have a car. ‘teo’s on the . . the other side of the country, i h-had no one else to call.” the speed of which your words fly out are akin to a mile a minute. eren’s only able to discern the words of dorm and fire and he finds himself moving before he knows it.

“ima be there.”

you hadn’t expected eren to actually come to your university and pick you up — not for a moment. 

you catch eye of a pristine, space grey bmw m4 cruising around the curved entryway as you sit upon the trunk of giselle’s kia, parked in the lot about ten feet away from the dorms and promptly . . . you know. pieces of gravel and tiny pebbles pop and crackle under the weight of four, blacked out rim tires as they slow to a halt beside her car and gently, you swipe your finger under your nose, watching the driver’s door swing open.

when he steps out, reminiscent of that night at the bar, your heart begins to pound. 

“awe, mama.”

he wears a pair of black sweats, thick black socks, and nike slides. the jacket he dons is a zip up. it’s clear he must have hurried on over due to the fact that he does not wear a shirt underneath it. it’s zipped to cover about three fourths of his torso and briskly, you let your eyes dance across the tight groove of his pecs and the dip of his collarbones as he rounds the front of the car. upon you standing onto your feet, his arms are opening wide to coax and envelop you into his embrace.

“mm, ‘m so sorry,” he mumbles, comfortingly beginning a leaden rock on your feet from side to side. “ ‘m sorry.”

his hugs are nice . . . they’re so nice.

he wraps his arms around the back of your neck and grabs hold of his own elbows with the opposite hands so that he can completely engulf you within his hold. it’s as though he’s trying to obscure you from the rest of the world and its horrors, savagery, and acerbity. the muscles of your body render as you melt into him. you stand about eight inches shorter than eren. your face is buried into his heart as you squeeze your arms tightly around his stature, noting that this is exactly what you need . . what you’ve been needing. 

“you’re okay, yeah?” he makes you look up at him — lets you go, tilts your head up by the chin. “y’all both okay?” his eyes quickly glance towards giselle and waits until the both of you nod.

“said it was the cause of a candle,” she explains, leaning an elbow on the trunk. “got knocked over, caught on a curtain — rest is history. nobody died, don’t worry.”

eren huffs a breath, rubbing a hand over his head that’s sheathed by his jacket’s hood. “my god. scared the fuck outta me man.”

“you didn’t,” you swallow and inhale a thin, shuddering breath. “you didn’t h-have to come pick me up, eren.”

he’s moving — stepping around you, grabbing your pink, hard cased, hello kitty printed suitcases and rolling them to his trunk. “was gonna ask to stay with me, yeah?” his voice still holds the tenors of sleep . . it makes his baritone much richer and gruff as opposed to usual.

“only for the night, eren. i-if that’d be okay—“

blithely, he’s lifting a shoulder them dropping it while hoisting the door of his trunk open and sliding one suitcase in at a time. “fuck that. when is the dorm being rebuilt?”

giselle hastily answers, “fire only reached the top three floors. heard the dean say it’s gonna take them at least a month or two.”

the trunk is closed with a slam, after which he’s giving you a small smirk while taking your duffel, “you’re stayin’ with me until it’s done then. easy commute, comfy bed . . i cook sometimes.”

room for discussion is withdrawn. his eyes teeter the stroke of sapphire underneath the golden rays of the rising sun and he fixes them on the deep chocolates of your own, letting you read the firm resolve that swims inside. he’s already made up his mind. “giselle, you . .” he juts a thumb out towards his car, letting her fill in the rest of his sentence, and giselle gives a small smile while shaking her head.

“thanks for the offer. my mom lives like forty minutes away, ‘m jus gonna stay with her ’til all this blows over.”

he lets the two of you say your goodbyes while settling your backpack and duffles in the backseat. “mm, be good, yeah?” your friend squeezes you tight with a kiss to the crown of your head. “go get some rest and call me when you wake up.”

when you’re settled within the passenger seat of eren’s car, you aren’t surprised to find that the interior is just as immaculately clean as the ex. blended scents of mint and black ice seem to be ingrained between the leather seating — it swathes and comforts you in the best way possible. “you okay?” he’s asking quietly, strong hand pushing the gear shift into drive as his other wraps around the bottom of the wheel. he’d already asked the question before, albeit . . he wants to be sure. 

sluggishly, your head goes to lean against the window. you appear so small to eren in that moment — swallowed by your hoodie, arms wrapped around yourself, and body curled. your mumble is meek as you retort, “ ‘m okay.”

aside from the low volume of brent faiyaz’s voice floating in through high definition speakers to enshroud the ambience, the drive is quiet. your eyes close, letting the push and pull of the car moving lull you into that narcotic state of consciousness and not. you find that eren comforts you. you don’t have to worry about much. your mind falls to a mute when he’s around — rushing thoughts of where you were going to go, you possibly needing to take a leave of absence, the never ending factors of stress are all temporarily forgotten.

it’s as though he takes over the reigns. he doesn’t allow you to carry your own bags, no, ‘he’s got it.’ asks you twice if you’d like something to eat from the bakery provided within his apartment’s lobby as he walks you through past security and a doorkeeper. he’s making sure you stay close beside him after you’re both exiting the elevator shaft on the tenth floor and striding across cranberry, gold trimmed carpet to a door whose gilded, etched plate above the doorbell reads the number 1018.

come the door opening and first impressions of eren’s home, you find that it’s clean . . similar to his car, it’s almost unnaturally so. 

you follow his motions once he kicks off his slides inside the foyer, neatly placing your little, pink, fur trimmed crocs beside a pair of ‘mocha’ jordan ones. the juxtaposition of the two of them next to one another feels strangely satisfying, as if that’s where they’re made to be. 

round with wonder, your eyes scan every inch of his place when you’re able to walk further inside soon after.

his living room is first you see when exiting the corridor. it’s massive — sits in front of his open spaced kitchen, completed with a long, wide ‘L’ shaped sofa the tone of cool, olive green. delicate beams of amber pour in through three, large, arch shaped windows. they draw attention to a fish tank, grand and roomy,  sitting atop of a full bookcase — swimming with curious guppies, neon tetras, and cherry garbs. you gravitate towards it, gasping and tenderly placing your finger upon the glass where a wading angelfish sways at a standstill. quietly, you coo, “. . you have little fishies.”

eren scoffs a small chuckle behind you as he places your bags beside the settee, “i do.”

though being of different breeds, all of them seem to exist in calm harmony. a tetra shoots itself in a firm, straight line to dive for a thatchet of moss to pick at and a guppy smoothly glides out of its way to make room.

“mm, yeah, these are my babies,” eren lowers his face a few inches away from yours to gaze fondly at them, too. “ ‘m too busy for a cat or dog right now. these were my next choice,” he points to a particularly bored looking cherry garb. “that’s jerry,” then that excited tertra. “rick. the angelfish you’re touchin’ is morty. summer and beth are over there . . . then you got, teddy . . bob . . and there goes gene.”

it takes a moment for you to familiarize yourself with the names. “wait,” a slow smile starts to spread across your lips come the realization. “seriously, eren?”

his eyes glint with boyish glee as he straightens back upright, “lemme show you to the room.”

his apartment has one, wide, lengthy corridor that breaks off into two more come the end of it. on the left are three doors, one slimmer than the other two leaving you to assume that it may be a closet. on the right are only two. he turns down that way and heads straight for the door ahead which he opens, stretching his arm and adjusting his body to allow you first entry. “you let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

it’s far bigger than you’d expected — completed with a king sized bed and sixty inch flat screen. the curtains above the arched window are left partially agape and pushing through it is a glistening beam, pouring warmth right onto the center of the mattress. it’s as though it beckons you to curl within it; oh, how you yearn to. you wrap your arms around your body once more, a comforting habit used to soothe and give you the confidence needed in order to turn back towards eren and meekly murmur, “. . i appreciate this. i’m sorry, again.”

“nah, nah. no,” as if instinctively, eren finds his fingers reaching for the curve of your waist, however before he can touch you, his thoughts catch up with his actions, and quickly, he shoves his hand inside of his jacket’s pocket. “no need to apologize. i don’t mind you bein’ here . . . okay?” he bends at the waist and lowers his head to catch your downward gaze and waits until you give a timid nod prior to him smiling. “i seriously don’t. so, don’t think you’re intrudin’ on me or anythin’. no more sorries.”

“. . no more sorries.”

what a sweet thing you are. eren constricts the doorknob within a sweating fist. “you gotta get some sleep.”

right.

he’s right. your exhaustion weighs down your eyelids — makes you stare at him with hazy debility waxed over normally wide, attentive irises. “mkay.” you turn on your heels and make your way for the bed, having to give a bit of a hop with one knee on top to fully pull yourself onto it. “gnight, eren.”

you’re precious. 

“gnight, mama.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

minutes drag into hours — idle and lax.

with the golden disc of the sun hanging high within the blue skies, eren works. he sits inside of his room, at his desk, sketching designs, answering emails, things to keep his mind busy instead of worrying about you.

how frightened you had been. you shook in his arms when he’d hugged you — frail and weak. a girl like you shouldn’t be put into situations like that . . situations between life or death, it had clearly been too much for your dainty, pearl coated heart to take on. you’ve only just entered his life again, eren doesn’t think he’s ready to let you slip away any time soon.

when the sun starts its slow descend is when he pushes himself away from his desk to shower and begin the process of deciding what to eat for dinner. he’s lazy today, he will be honest. he wonders what you like . . .

when you were a little girl, you seemed to have an insane obsession with mexican food, more notably, burritos. warmed tortillas nearly swollen and bursting with barbacoa, pollo asado, rice, spicy salsa, sour cream, cheese, and avocado. he takes the chance of ordering one for you with a grilled chicken salad for himself. 

it’s while he’s snatching a bottle of water from his fridge when the doorbell buzzes. 

“. . fuckin’ ony.”

there’s no one else he knows that is able to bypass security, the doorman, and input the code needed for his apartment floor. no one else has the audacity, and upon him opening the door, not a soul stands on the other side, apart from onyankopon. “you missed me?” a bright, handsome smile is expanded across two, thick, double hued lips as he walks inside and kicks off his new balances.

“i didn’t,” eren closes and locks the door behind him, heading straight for the couch. quiet footsteps follow after ony tears off his coat and hangs it within the linen closet. “i really fuckin’ didn’t.”

“yeah, yeah. shut that shit up,” he plops down beside eren on a cushion, naturally letting his legs fall far apart to work himself into a comfortable position. “giants game is on. you cook?”

shaking his head, eren nibbles on the soft skin of his bottom lip, “ordered food.”

ony spares a look beside the door of which he entered from, catching eye of the crocs, radiant and pink — jibbitz of hearts, stars, bows, and hello kitty characters popped into almost every hole — sitting beside his shoes. they’re a blaring mar, starkly standing out against eren’s black, brown, and olive decor. “. . . who you got over here?”

“hm?—“

delicate footsteps are heard padding ony’s way. his head swivels on his shoulders . . and there you stand. 

you rub an eye with a fist, lips parted around a wide yawn, bonnet askew, hoodie practically sliding off of your shoulder. “oh,” sparkling eyes of fawn catch ony’s then you’re quickly pulling it back into place. “sorry.” they snap to eren’s and both men watch you take a hesitant step back, as if you were unsure you were allowed to come any closer. 

“no, no—“

“—you good, you good.”

without thinking, the two of them separate to leave the middle cushion open. “c’mere,” eren finds himself a bit glad to see you up. you’ve slept for nearly twelve hours, he’s missed your face. “you remember ony, yeah?”

you do.

your steps are light as you round the couch. 

ony . . .

he appears to be even more pretty than that night at the bar. similar to eren, he wears a pair of sweats, though his are grey. his legs are long, and still, underneath thick fleece, the firm muscle of his thighs bulge. “hi, ony,” you give a soft smile and take a slow seat between the two, folding your hands between the warm, plush skin of your own. 

“hey, ma’,” he licks his lips. “i heard about the fire at your school. that was your dorm?”

no longer inebriated, today, you can hear the faint traces of a southern accent peppering the deep modes of his voice. it drags out his tone, makes a few words string loosely together. goosebumps pebble the surface of your skin at the sound, “uh huh . . yeah, it was mine.” 

“damn, ‘m sorry,” similar to eren, ony seems big on eye contact. pools of warm brown gaze sympathetically into your own and it makes your tummy feel as though goo has replaced all of your organs. “you managed to grab all your stuff though, right?”

“mm, m-most of it,” you scratch at your knee, suddenly nervous. “left some stuff . . little things, i think i’ll be okay.”

eren’s speaking up beside you, “you call your family?”

“mhm,” you give a nod. “took them a second to remember you. they’re happy that you’re lettin’ me stay — told me to tell you that they’re hoping to see you again.”

he’s smiling, dimples deepening, “yeah?”

at the sight, you can’t help but smile, too. “mhm.”

you suppose that the conversation dies after that. you pull your legs up to your chest, wrap your arms around your knees, and tune into the television. truthfully, you know nothing about football — what you see happening are squads of men running back and forth along ice frosted grass, tackling one another over a little, spheroid ball. ony calls out an ‘interception,’ eren shoots out a firm ‘fumble’ and all you really hear is the sound of tv static. 

unconsciously, when one of them yells out a game play, you take the moment of deep voices overlapping one another to inhale a deep breath. 

they both smell nice . . utterly divine. eren teeters a line of cool bergamot and pine while ony smells warm . . similar to coconut and mahogany. the both of them are huge, too — statures looming over your own, even while you all sit. you’re aware that the tiny, juvenile crush you had on eren when you were a child is once again unfurling itself. similar to a wilted tulip, it blooms with the warmth of his smile, strengthens with the simple graze of his finger across yours, dazzles at the mere sight of him . . nonetheless, always a girl who’s wanted more, who’s learned to grab a handful when offered an open chance, you’re aware that a new seed has been planted when you spare timid glances at ony.

modestly, you assume that this all may be physical with them both — strictly surface level. you’re enamored with their features, you’re sure plenty would agree, because as much as you think you know eren, you don’t. he’s older now, he’s changed, he’s morphed, and he’s matured. 

you reckon that you have to take your time to learn about him again, about them both, come you gauging a more than friendly graze of ony’s arm slipping around eren’s waist once he stood and steps past you both to open the door at the sound of a knock. 

“hungry, mama?”

overhead, motion detected lighting fades in within the kitchen after eren grabs two, large plain paper bags from the hands of a cheery blonde, closes the door, and walks over to it. your nose twitches at the familiar scent of marinated meat, “. . . burritos?” 

your excitement is palpable. you quickly pad over, ony following, to watch him open the bag upon the island, prior to pulling out a foil wrapped cylinder, more or less the size of his bicep. “thank you so much.” 

you haven’t ate in over a day, your stomach gives an aggravated growl at the trivial realization. it’s endearing, watching how wide you have to open your little mouth to take a bite of it. “c’mere, you’re gonna dislocate your jaw,” ony hums, carefully taking the burrito from your hands to then turn and grab a knife from the block beside the sink. cute eagerness is hidden beneath a poorly made veil of self control as you watch him cut a diagonal line within the center of it, splitting the burrito into two. “hm.” he gives you one.

“thank you.” 

you’re biting into it quite easier now, sinking your teeth into tender meats and a warm, flour tortilla. “tastes good?” eren stands on the other side of the counter and spares a glance up at you through wispy strands of umber that falls into his eyes while drizzling a zest filled dressing over his salad. “want some of ours?”

you’re hesitant, glancing between it and ony’s quesadillas. 

“why you shy for?” the latter asks quietly, head tilting to follow your eyes when you look away. “hm.”

he holds it out and — candidly, you just can’t help it — you lean it to take a small bite . . humming a soft, “hmmm.” at the savory taste of carne asada. a fork of eren’s salad is next, you have to tilt yourself forward, palms flat on the island to take it and in doing so, a piece of fresh, crisp lettuce clings to your chin. casually, eren swipes it away, eyes fondly twinkling, “messy thing.” 

“both are yummy,” you comment before holding your burrito up to eren’s lips. “hm . . bite.”

“dietin’, mama. ‘s why i got a salad.”

you can’t help but pout at the rejection for your burrito. how bad it must feel. naturally, you turn it to ony. “bite.”

he does so with no hesitation and a huge smile of awe covers your face as you gasp, watching him take a more than generous chomp. “oh wow,” you’re giggling, taking in how slow he chews. 

eren scoffs, rolling his eyes, “fuckin’ greedy ass. you regret that now, hm?”

“shut the fuck up, jaeger,” he turns his attention to you. “shit’s torch. thank you, ma’.”

“mhm,” you take a seat upon a stool, languidly swinging your legs one at a time, letting a bout of silence hang over you all until ony utters a small revelation, “you’ve never told us your major.”

“ ‘s communications.”

both men drag out loud, exaggerated ‘ oh! ‘s, clearly impressed. silly. a sheet of warmth flourishes across your cheeks, beginning first at the rounded tip of your nose. “stop it,” you whine, simpering at their puerility. 

“what are you doin’ after?” eren murmurs around a mouthful of greens. “do you know?”

you give a feeble shrug, toying with the foil that surrounds your burrito, “somethin’ in marketing and advertising, most likely. or social media managing. i really like both.”

“for real?”

you give one, firm nod, “mhm.”

“does this mean you’re like,” eren tilts his head. “ig famous or some shit?”

his question makes you laugh. “no, no, ‘m not . . i mean, i have a decent amount — not as much as you.” you regret the words almost as soon as they tumble from the plump hills of your lips. eren had never given you his instagram — that, you all know. 

ony smiles, chewing slowly while sharing a knowing glance with him. eren discerns what shines within his irises, can practically hear him — ‘what i say.’ “so, now you know we got ourselves a superstar on our hands.”

rolling his eyes, eren swivels on his heels to walk towards the pantry, evidently trying to dodge the topic, “here we go with this shit. i’m not, ( ❤︎ ), don’t listen to the bullshit—“

“—nah, nah. she’s seen it. she knows. eren’s a fuckin’ diva.”

“you get on my fuckin’ nerves.”

you twist your stool from left to right, interest piqued. “oh yeah?”

ony gives you a casual wink, jutting his thumb eren’s way while shaking his head and muttering, “i jus like fuckin’ wit’ him.”

two wine glasses and a mug are sat upon the middle of the island, “we don’t need you drunk tonight,” eren utters, swiftly grabbing a bottle of lemonade from the fridge. he opens it then tips it against the mug, pouring til the liquid reaches the rim. “plus . .” he gives a bland shrug, eyebrows quirking. “you’re underaged.”

“you’re no fun.”

“mm, yeah, i know.”

while he works on unscrewing a tough cork off of a bottle of wine, you take another bite of your burrito, curiously eyeing the lines of ink tatted along ony’s hand. it’s a face . . . you aren’t sure of whose. it isn’t realistic, no, it resembles a michelangelo sculpture — completed with an expression seized over with melancholy, eyes void of irises and pupils, meticulously coiled hair, and a firm, lineal nose. “. . can i touch?” you reach for it, hesitatingly, noting ony’s slight surprise. 

“for sure.”

tenderly, you stroke your thumb along the face’s cheek, enamored by the realism of it all. it’d appeared that he had a true sculpture embedded within the skin of his hand. “whose face is this?” you softly inquire. “ ‘s a greek god, yeah?”

“mhm,” he curls his fingers into a fist and you watch the tendons and bones underneath his skin flex as it moves, seemingly changing expressions. “eros.”

“did eren do it?”

once more, ony nods, “shit’s clean, mm?”

you’re amazed, smiling while trying to make his fingers curl and relax to get the face to move once more, “i love it — so pretty.”

quietly, while working the cork off, eren admires the two of you. how quickly you are to open up to ony, more importantly, get ony to open up to you is . . oddly interesting. he’s known ony for nearly five years, having met him almost immediately after moving into the city. it had taken months for eren to get the guy to speak a full, two sentences to him, and yet, here you are . . . sweet, kind, soft spoken you. 

he’s sure you aren’t aware of the sheer amount of power you hold within your hands come later into the night. 

you fill the two of them in on your life, beginning the stories after eren and your big brother had graduated. you tell them about your high school days, how you participated in clubs, made the cheer squad, attended homecomings, and prom. you show them pictures of you with your friends, in your uniform, face a bit more cherubic and soft as opposed to now.

the more both him and ony learn, the more questions they have. yeah, they’re aware that you graduated valedictorian of your class, but who’s that guy that took you to prom? just a friend? oh. are you both still in contact? okay, nice. when did you meet giselle? you’re a bit of a shy girl, she approached you first, yeah? they knew it. you really like burritos, why? . . hm, okay. that’s a first. a big fan of sweets, too? caramels, chocolates, gummies, all that? wow.

following, there are the questions that they . . . merely keep to themselves — ones they’re sure you’d be too timid and bemused to answer. such as, why in the fucking world are you so pretty? how did you get to become so pretty — what made you so pretty? they have to know. why do you make eren’s heart feel as though it was three beats away from shooting out of his chest? why are you so easy to talk to? why does ony see you being in his life for years to come when he’s really only known you for a measly four hours?

when his phone begins to buzz, it catches the attention of all three of you.

“. . shit, i gotta go,” ony mumbles, holding it within his hand as he reads a text from the screen. he only has to say one word, or rather, the name ‘connie’ for eren to nod. 

you slump into the corner of where you sit curled upon the couch, disappointment oozing from your pores akin to water through the sides of a moorish jar. connie . . . a unisex name. could it be his girlfriend? the thought is fleeting. you watch him and eren stand, he moves in a bit of a haste — it has to be a significant other, surely. tenderly, you pout, watching him slip his feet into his shoes and shrug into his coat. “alright, ima hit you later,” you hear him tepidly relate to eren. before he leaves, he leans upon his left foot to take a more full look at you over the brunet’s shoulder. “you be good, alright?” he gives you a knowing nod, waiting until you return it. “mhm. you promise?”

within your arms is a throw pillow — you squeeze it tightly, firmly, willing those flapping, interminable butterflies swarming inside of your tummy away before giving a soft nod and biting down on a smile, “i promise, ony.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

living with eren comes to be more cozy and pleasant than you’d initially thought.

you hadn’t expected him to be so welcoming, nevertheless, he is. each morning, around seven to eight am, you’re surprised to find him up, dressed, and ready to get the day started. he makes you breakfast everyday, too — meals range from cute pancakes in misshapen forms of stars, mickey mouse's head contour, and your favorite sanrio character, to a simple açaí bowl, toppled with granola, fresh fruits, and sweet honey. on days when you have no classes, you make sure to wake up an hour earlier and sit at the island to simply watch. 

there are also mornings where you’d exit the bedroom, disoriented and still blurry eyed to find ony standing right beside him — mixing batter in a large, sunken bowl, helping grill lean strips of steak within a sizzling skillet, and those are the days you find yourself much quiet than usual. and you’re sure eren notices. when the sun shines in through his large windows, finding only the two of you, you’re asking shy, curious questions about his occupation, his mom, his other friends ( you’ve managed to learn all of their names — mikasa, armin, sasha, and connie ). 

you suppose that the reason as to such is because you would rather much observe the two men when all three of you are together. 

eren’s . . . different with ony as opposed to how he is, or should you say was, with mateo. and incipiently, you’d thought of yourself as being too nosy, drawing up conclusions and speculations that weren’t even there, especially doing so without enough concrete substantiation. of course he’d be different with a friend as opposed to when he was sixteen in high school and now, a grown man. 

he and ony do not play video games as much as he and mateo did. they don’t go to parties, arcades, and hide your homework from you the way he and your brother used to, all in efforts to make you whine.

no, the two of them work out with one another. they watch games on the couch with one another, cook, eat, and on occasion, smoke with one another. and you’re positive that many other people with close friends do the same, nonetheless, it’s more in how the two of them do it. they don’t sit on opposite sides of the settee when smoking or watching a game, no, they are always close — close enough to have their thighs touch, their knees brush against each other’s as they leisurely sway in and out and the two of them swoop lower and lower within their bounden highs. while they cook together, ony’s hand is on eren’s slim waist, moving him out of the way to grab a small bottle of garlic seasoning instead of him simply asking eren to slide over or get it himself. when they smile at one another, something deeper wades within the four pools of jade and stone brown, you’re certain of it.

come week eight of you staying with eren, you aren’t sure how to feel.

you’re confused, emotions tied and bundled up into one, great, big ball of horrible mush. you like eren — that, is something that you are assured of and, admittedly, you hate that you do. you loathe that seven years of pining has only seemed to collectively intensify your feelings with each passing day. you’re a blushing mess after one glance from him is given, too shy to say more than a few sentences at a time. withal . . . onyankopon makes you feel something incapable of words.

granted, you’re more trusting due to him being eren’s closest friend of over five years, regardless, if the two of you were to meet on your own separate terms, you’re sure he’d plague your dreams the same way he does now.

tonight, you lay awake, staring at the smooth blades of a rotating ceiling fan above you, willing away the thoughts of them both. you have a quiz tomorrow, you’ve studied for it all week, and you’re supposed to be going out with giselle and lana again the day after. your itinerary for the next few days is booked with small tasks in between, such as a nail appointment, tutoring sessions, and more studying. you are a busy girl, albeit, you can’t sleep. whether due to your rushing thoughts or the faint, eerie sounds slipping in through underneath the crack of your closed door, you don’t know. 

tilting your head downwards, you stare at the doorknob for a moment — awaiting the moment it begins to leisurely twist to give you all the more reason to scream and barricade yourself in the bathroom, though, it never comes. the sounds draw out longer and the more frequent they grow, the more your curiosity blossoms, unfortunately. 

your hand slips underneath a pillow so that you’re able to grab hold of your phone and inspect the time — twelve o’ two. 

you suppose you might as well go and pursue the source of such — what if it’s eren? hurt or in pain? an intruder? naturally, you hope for the former. you’ve never even killed an ant on your own, you doubt you’d be able to take on a human being. 

you leave only a sliver of space ajar when you first open the door, peeking a single eye out into the gloomy hall. evidently, the sounds are more reverberant. you tremble like a lone leaf in the fall, trying your best to gauge the distance between yours and eren’s room with your eyes . . his door is only about four steps away. since you’ve been staying with him, he leaves it half opened, and from the inside of it, light pours into the corridor against a single wall. 

the tv is on.

the source of lighting is a good enough beacon of encouragement to have you give a quick squeal and scurry on over to the threshold, fist already raised in preparedness to knock upon his door . . yet, you stop.

or, in better words, you freeze.

you come to discover that the sounds are being emitted through the mouths of two people — of his and onyankopon’s.

you can’t see much — eren’s king sized bed’s headboard is positioned against the wall that faces the door some feet away from it. nonetheless, you can make out onyankopon. he lays atop of eren, barren from his usual crewnecks, jeans, and air forces. blue light glistens upon the dark brown of his skin — sinewy muscle rippling within the stoutness of it as one tatted arm flexes, rising up then down between their bodies. 

the both of them are mostly quiet — whispers and mumbles incomprehensible. it’s the volume of their baritones what you’d heard . . both of them terribly deep. they echo off of the four walls, rumble throughout eren’s apartment, drip down masonry and plaster, slow and thick. 

eren’s tone veers along the edge of a whine, when he utters, “fuck, ‘yan . . s-shit.”

your heart pounds within your chest come the realization of your suspicions being proven true. 

“c’mon, pa’, gimmie that nut,” ony mumbles, working his fist more swiftly, direly. “fuckin’ pretty ass.”

a horrible feeling overcomes the expanse of your chest. it’s one you’ve never experienced — comes across as though your heart was literally twisting and coiling to become one, small knot which climbs up into the wire of your throat to then sit there and inflate. briskly, you turn on the heels of your feet, tip toeing as quick as you can back to your room to then close and lock the door. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

you wake up late.

of course you do.

after spending most of the night letting the lewd image of onyankopon and eren engross your mind, you manage to finally get some sleep around five am after a painful sobbing session. how stupid you are. the signs were all there. you can’t help but feel angry at yourself, reasons as to why still unclear. you wish you’d have just stayed in bed, ignored the sounds, forced yourself to go to sleep. in doing that, your eyes wouldn’t be almost swollen shut and head wouldn’t be pounding as though someone had been beating it with a hammer an hour straight. you’re aware that you would still be in the blind, you know, but . . at least your heart wouldn’t hurt as much.

hurrying out of the room, you’re making a straightaway to the front door. your uber is only two minutes away and you recognize that you are already missing the first five of your lecture. huffing quietly. you’re already mentally preparing yourself for the energy you’re going to need to plead your case to your professor in efforts to get a small extension—

  “—( ❤︎ )?”

don’t stop. don’t look.

“. . mm, yeah?”

your eyes are locked upon the door. you’re only about eight steps away, it isn’t much.

“hey, hey, hold on.”

onyankopon’s legs are longer than yours. he’s able to intercept your path without much of a hassle, standing right in front of the entry to the foyer. thoughtlessly, you take a step back when he makes himself known, sparing a glance up into his eyes. he’s smiling, though it goes a bit fraught at the edges when he views your appearance.

“. . what’s wrong?” he gently asks.

it isn’t the lack of blush, faux lashes, and glitter adorning your face that has him concerned, it’s the heavy bags underneath your eyes, the coating of puffiness that surrounds them. usually, you’re dressed in darling two piece sets, a cute skirt and top, hair pulled up into sweet pigtails or even pinned back with bows . . . today, you’re donning all black — leggings, hoodie, and ugg boots . . . box braids pulled back into a simple, low pony. something’s wrong. both he and eren can see.

“nothing.”

to make matters worse for you, eren wants to take a look for himself and it leaves the two of them in front of you, obstructing you from leaving. “what happened?” he asks. “not hungry today, mama?”

your nails dig into the fleshy part of your palm. you hear the pitch of his voice — more quiet, whimpering . . you hear ony’s — tender, sodden in raw infatuation. “no,” you shake your head. your next inhale is shaky and your eyes begin to prick with a familiar sting. “i g-gotta go. ‘m late. sorry.” quickly, you scuttle around them to hustle through the foyer, unlock the door, and part. 

for a moment, eren’s confused. the corners of his lips tug downwards as the door slams and he quickly replays the discussion over within his head, fighting to figure out where the obvious issue lied.

it doesn’t take much for ony to decipher why you’re acting so different today. understanding irons out the bewilderment that graces his face and while inhaling a slow breath, he starts his path back over to the kitchen, saying only one thing, “i think she saw us last night.”

eren’s quiet for a moment. 

nah . . . impossible.

. . . did you? 

rubbing a hand across his jaw, he pauses, letting the words marinate, “. . nah,” he murmurs. “nah. that’s crazy—“

“—she did.”

“no.”

“i’m telling you, bro,” onyankopon’s eyes are firm. “she did.”

before you went to bed last night, you and eren were fine. you ate dinner together, introduced him to one of your favorite shows — hello kitty and friends, he thinks it was called, you ate ice cream, then you both parted ways around ten to call it a night. 

he doesn’t think he was loud when leaving his room an hour later to let ony inside, doesn’t think neither of them made too much noise when that happened again — something that’s occurred only once before . . months before you found your way back inside of eren’s life for a second time.

then again, they did leave the door open.

“. . shit,” eren breathes out the word through a low groan, falling into a stool at the island beside him. “she didn’t seem mad, though. no?”

onyankopon shakes his head, “not mad . . more . . sad, i think.”

sad. that is true. your face did appear swollen and veneered over with gloom before you left. the two explanations as to why you’d be upset are evident — the first is simply you being bigoted. both he and onyankopon know that you aren’t that at all, not in any shape or form, so that’s ruled out immediately. eren’s only seen you cry once before today — when you were younger and found out your friends had gone to the movies and mall without you. you’re a sensitive girl; you cry when your feelings have been hurt and disregarded.

ony decides to let eren figure out the obvious second reasoning on his own. “i gotta head out,” he says, tipping his head back with a glass canted at his lips to swill down the rest of his orange juice. “. . ima catch you later.”

“for sure.”

both men hesitate. when ony stands, he’s hit with the sudden urge to lean in and press a delicate kiss against the warm pads of eren’s lips . . similar to the way he did less than seven hours ago, when they were both alone, sated and sweaty. however, at the last second, he withdraws — sucking in a deep inhale before nodding. “. . ‘m out.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

funnily enough, you vex onyankopon’s thoughts for the rest of the day.

as an automotive designer, his head is almost always bustling with new ideas, deadlines, requisitions, and contracts. while he works — inspecting the lot where near almost fifteen cars are parked and being worked on throughout, clipboard in hand to document progress, connie’s headway in wrapping a mclaren 765lt within a pearlescent pink cast vinyl sparks the first of many thoughts of you.

your sweet face laden with dejection and woe was enough to hurt his heart — it sits within the core of his brain, flashing over and over again. in a way, onyankopon supposes that he feels . . guilty. he sees the way you gaze at eren when you think no one else is paying attention, how you giggle and blush and nearly purr when he mumbles an impulsive ‘good job, mama’ or ‘ ‘m proud of you.’ you’re absolutely smitten.

he guesses he should feel a bit jealous, too . . or maybe, possessive. 

his and eren’s relationship has no other word to describe it aside from ‘complicated.’ to the world, more specifically their other friends, they’re simply thick as thieves. no one really knows how bad ony longs to hear his voice after an especially long, taxing day. how content he feels when eren is simply in eyeline. how much his love for eren truly grows.

withal, he doesn’t feel the slightest bit upset that you may adore eren as much as he does. he’s easy to cherish. 

he feels a tender pity for you, at most. doubtlessly, he knows that you’re confused, sullen, heartbroken, and he finds it impossible to carry on his day, knowing you’re probably wishing you hadn’t got out of bed this morning. 

— hey. u out of class yet?

ony sends out the text while sitting in his car, reclined back comfortably in his seat, still parked in front of his lot. he’s honestly astounded when you reply back.

— got ten more minutes. why? — bout to come scoop u. drop lo.

it takes you nearly five minutes to go ahead and do so. you’re probably overthinking yourself into another batch of tears. ony sighs at the simple thought, “this lil girl, man.”

you’re a bit of a brat. he sees that now.

upon you first catching eye of his obsidian black lexus es 350 before he hops out of it, you remain seated atop of the bench you lounge on, arms folded, face unreadable. onyankopon has to step onto the curb and meet your eye while motioning to the passenger seat’s open door. you stay firm, “. . did eren send you? i could’ve jus’ took an uber again, i don’t mind—“

“—nah,” ony takes hold of one of the shoulder straps to your backpack to carry it. “he didn’t. c’mon.”

your stubbornness proves to be futile. after you climb in, he makes sure you buckle into your seatbelt prior to placing your backpack in the seat behind you. and as was foreseeable, you’re quiet while ony drives. you’re almost always quiet around him and he’ll be honest, it makes him feel a certain way when eren ends up telling him about a funny thing you said, how you’re possibly one of the most interesting people he’s ever known, and realizing you obviously don’t feel comfortable being that same way around him. 

onyankopon gets it though. he’s not much of a talker neither, and he’s aware of how frustrating it is to have someone continuously try to poke and prod to get you to. he’ll simply just have to wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

“. . ice cream?”

pulling into a parking space right in front of ‘ candy’s ice cream parlor ‘ surprises you and, more or less, onyankopon allowing you to get triple scoops does too. you embellish your favorite flavors with drizzles of chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and brownie bites, and with a smile, take a big spoonful. “ ’s yummy.”

only having bought a vanilla milkshake for himself, ony relaxes against the cushion of the side of the booth he sits in, modestly watching you take another spoonful and slip it between the glossed pillows of your lips. “you sure you don’t want nothin’ else?” 

shaking your head, you bore a nice hole within the mound of sweet cream, making sure to get a chunk of brownie right along side it, “thank you for this,” you hum. “i appreciate it, ony.” you really do. cliche, you know, heartbroken girl burying herself in ice cream and cheesy rom-coms, nonetheless, both has always been enough to soothe you after a particularly rancid day.

giving a slight shrug, onyankopon angles the straw at his lips to take a sip, “felt like you needed it,” the tone of his voice mellows when he continues, “y’seemed a lil’ . . upset earlier.”

he takes heed in how quickly you look away from him — your body shifts and your jaw tenses. “mm, yeah. it was over something . . something s-stupid.”

ony had wanted you to tell him on your own, but, when the open chance comes . . introduces itself so glaringly, well, he just can’t help it. artificial curiosity douses the bass of his voice as he asks, “ ‘cause of school?”

“. . . no, not really.”

“what? family?”

“nuh uh.”

silence overcomes the table. you refuse to elaborate. your eyes remain fixed on your ice cream as your ears tune into the glitzy pop song chiming through the parlor’s inbuilt ceiling speakers. you can’t tell him. you don’t want to engage in the topic for not a second longer. seconds quickly tick into a minute and when you pardon a glance up to look at ony, you find him already gazing back at you, relaxed smirk decorating the soft fullness of his lips. 

you watch him inhale a breath, irises casted downwards as he shifts and adjusts the carhartt beanie upon his head, “. . ima be honest, ma’, alright?” he licks his lips and you watch his eyes pull back up to meet yours before they grow heavy. the expression on his face is nothing short of enticing . . almost coy. coupled with his now more lazy posture — legs, as always, spread wide, one knee rocking leisurely from left to right . . you kind of hate how if affects you, how he affects you. “i think you’re beautiful.”

the curveball is thrown. subtly, your lips part in fair of your awe. 

and he shrugs, as if what he’d told you had been a simple fun fact. “i think you’re smart as shit. you’re kind. you’re sweet. i’d fuckin’ kill to get to know you more, on some real shit. i see you in my life for a long time and i know you confused,” his finger taps idly upon the table as he pauses for a moment. “. . i know you have questions . . about some shit . . — shit that i genuinely can’t explain.” perspicacity — it glimmers within the ponds of his eyes and within a fraction of a second, you know that he knows. “eren cares about you, a lot. more than i think either of you know.” and with that, he stands, signaling you to do the same. “lemme get you’on home.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

eren discovers that you are ignoring him.

after onyankopon dropped you back off at his place, much to his surprise, you said your thanks, went into your room, and haven’t came back out. it drives him insane, you drive him insane. he finds himself pacing come the next morning, having realized you haven’t ate in over fourteen hours. “fuck,” he sighs, standing within the open door of his refrigerator. he sees the carton of strawberry yogurt cups seated on the bottom shelf, pink stanley tumbler,  squeezy pouches of fruit juice, assorted within those are onyankopon’s favorite pineapple sodas, alkaline water, and organic snack bars.

with each passing day, the more the two of you intertwine yourselves within his life. akin to thread, you both weave and weave your way around him and his heart, pulling tight, refusing to let go. 

“she’s fuckin’ mad at me,” he mutters. ony sits upon the couch — having slept over again, he’s dressed in only a pair of sweat shorts and socks. and it’s a hard thing for eren . . realizing that two of the most beautiful people he knows are horribly aware of the fact that they are beautiful. ony wastes no time constantly tearing off a shirt and you practically adore prancing around in your little dresses and skirts. the both of you stress him out.

“she not.”

“she fuckin’ is, man.”

smacking his lips, onyankopon stands, “she cool, eren. really . . jus’ give her some time, pa—“

neither men hear your footsteps until you’re nearing the kitchen. briskly, mouths are shut and attention is given.

you feel their eyes peering, scanning, watching you drop the duffel bag you carry near the entrance of the foyer so that you can place your hand upon a wall for balance and slip one foot inside of a calf length, fur covered boot. 

“. . . ( ❤︎ )—“

“—where are you going?”

they watch your foot fall and you stand there for a moment, back facing them. irritation pricks at the base of your neck with a million needles it seems. you fight to gather in your composure, fight to keep from not being too much of a bitch because, still, you’re aware that you’re in eren’s home. manners have been instilled within you since you could hold your own head upon your shoulders.

both eren and ony hear the peep of your gentle voice as you give a huff before turning around and forging a small smile, “out.”

ony inspects your outfit — it’s a knitted, pink, two piece set. the skirt is scarily short and the top is sleeveless and high necked with a cream colored bow threaded right atop the mounds of your full breasts. you tempt him, you really do. he’s tempted to bolt lock the door, tempted to go out and gauge out every person’s eyes who gives you a sheer glance. 

before he can ask, ‘where?’ eren’s beating him to it. no longer does desolation grace the handsome features of his face — his arms are folded, eyes intense and focused directly upon yours. it’s clear the two of them allocate similar thoughts.

you lift an arm then let it fall with a slap against the smooth, bare skin of your thighs. it’s a clear motion conveying ‘why do you care?’ “jus’ . . out. ‘m going to giselle’s to finish gettin’ ready. i’ll be back tomorrow—“

“—tomorrow?”

the tinkling chimes of your ringtone break through the conversation and, in all honesty, save you from being grilled. quickly, your other shoe is on and you’re turning back towards the door, “she’s already here, i’m leaving. bye.”

when it slams closed, onyankopon’s attention is focused directly back onto eren, awaiting the next move. he’s fully prepared to follow you out, to pull you back, right into his arms and never let go, only if eren shares those same thoughts, craves to do those same things. instead, he simply close his eyes and give a slight head shake, “. . . i need my fuckin’ bong.” you’re going to drive him up a fucking wall. 

he walks into his bedroom, practically snatches it from the cabinet of his nightstand, and packs the bowl until it almost overfills. “so, we jus’ gon let her—“

seated upon the settee with a true crime documentary paused on the television screen, the only sound heard echoing throughout the condo is the quick bubbling of smoke flowing through the bong’s water chamber as eren pulls a cloud of the drug into his lungs through his mouth. “—‘m not about to think abt that shit, ‘yan,” he intercepts, voice wavering on strained as he holds the smoke within his chest for a second longer. “i don’t care.”

he cares. he cares a whole fucking lot. what the fuck could you possibly have planned that you’re not going to make it home until tomorrow? why the fuck does he even care? he doesn’t know, can’t figure it out. “i don’t care.”

scoffing a “yeah, okay,” onyankopon rips the bong from his grasp to place his lips within the mouthpiece and inhale a long drag. “you repeated yourself.”

“. . .” furrowing his brows, eren lets his head fall against the back of the sofa. “what?”

“you said ‘i don’t care’ twice,” ony does the same. thick, silvered smoke pours from his mouth and coils into the air above their faces, dispersing into a haze of fumes. “lets me know that you care.”

“fuck you.”

“mmm.”

eren tries to get you out of his mind. he does — desperately. he smokes, he naps, wakes up, refreshes your instagram in hopes that you’d go on to habitually post your daily outfit checks, or perhaps a picture of one of your favorite snacks or meals, something to let him know that you were okay, albeit, nothing. he feels like he’s eighteen all over again with a first crush, longing, itching, wanting. what throws him off, and admittedly ony, too, is that around ten o clock, one more refresh of your page and suddenly the two of them are met with the symbol of a lock, and your followers and following list are greyed out and unable to be clicked upon.

ony stands up from the stool inside of the kitchen he was seated upon within his disbelief, “she put herself on private,” he utters, eyebrows fusing in close until a tiny divot rests between the space of them. “she fuckin’ removed us and privated her account, man.”

“this fuckin’ . .” eren’s next inhale is deep. he rubs at his jaw, beginning to pace. you’re clearly wanting to play, wanting to hide. you were aware that they were going to be watching and it’s clear now that they should have been one step ahead and knew that you would. akin to a joust of chess, eren finds the both of them now stuck, unable to move. his mind begins to conjure the things you could possibly be doing — flashes of your pretty smile, your sweet giggles, soft hands caressing the plane of someone’s skin, it flies in and damn near bludgeons his lungs out of his chest. “where the fuck could she be?” he’s muttering. you’re not much of a social girl. that’s more of giselle’s proficiency . . .

“fuckin’ giselle.”

it isn’t hard to find her instagram. she posts a shit ton more than you and the last clip of her story had been of her hand, clearly yours ( you’re the only girl they know who has cute bows and heart charms glued to your acrylics ), and two other girls’ holding pink tinted shot glasses with a caption of ‘ don’t think club bliss ready 4 us tbh. ‘ “club bliss,” onyankopon licks his lips, letting the name plummet within the depths of his mind to familiarize himself with it. “. . shit’s downtown, like thirty five minutes away. my nigga JC owns it.”

shrugging, eren’s already making his way down the hall to his bedroom, “c’mon. bout to shower and get dressed. not about to play with this girl no more.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

you make sure you don’t drink too much tonight. you refuse to experience the daunting repercussions of another hangover. two shots and half a glass of a lemon drop are just enough for your usual introversion and self scrutiny to thaw. “just bend,” jasmine had managed to acquire the four of you a section of your own within the nightclub. you hadn’t known that she and giselle invited more people outside of you guys’ immediate group, nonetheless, about twelve of you in total adorn the divans of your section. “and do it. shake your ass.”

you surmise that this is what you need. the music is loud enough to fill the expanse of your brain from corner to corner, the club is dark enough for you to not worry about who’s looking, you don’t want to think about them. not for a second longer.

though it does still pain you to realize — they are not yours. in all probability, they never will be, and you force yourself to admit that it’s okay. you’ll be okay. 

throwing your plush butt in cadenced circles into the welcoming canvas of giselle’s crotch while she squealed and recorded it all on her phone was a step into the right direction, you think. 

and in all honesty, you don’t know when you realize the rhythmic, encouraging pats on your butt have transitioned into a firm grip around your waist — don’t know when those same hands slid up to your soft tummy to push you up and have your back connect to a rigid, firm chest. “mm,” you’re mewling and tilting your head rearward when the person bends to tuck their face within the graceful slope of your neck. “wha . .” 

“you showin’ out, ma.”

you smell his cologne, and the top you wear is completely backless — it allows you to feel the algid gold of his chain grazing the bare skin of your spine. “. . ony?” you have to turn and face him . . figure out whether it was really true.

he stands before you, dressed in a light blue crewneck over a plain white tee and grey, distressed, patchwork jeans. the colored beams of the club glint along the handsome features of his face — painting him green, red, yellow, then blue. underneath them all, you note how heavy his eyes are, the faint smell of weed that undertones the warm notes of his body wash and cologne. immediately, you’re pushing him away, uttering one word, “no.”

he doesn’t seem surprised by your response, not in the slightest. he’s reaching for you, tugging you back into him firmly, then veering you both on your feet in order to have your back hit the mirrored wall that separates your section from another. the broadness of his stature easily hinders the view of you from any keen, prying eyes. you don’t know if you appreciate it or not. “ony, move, what are you—” you’re already whining and pushing at his chest with feeble, little paws. “m-move, i don’t . . don’t wanna do this. lemme have fun.”

he gazes at you through the leaden lids of his eyes, dragging them across the plumpness of your glazed lips then back up into your own, catching notice of the surface of them. they’re misty — iced over. you’re tipsy . . definitely fucking tipsy. “how many times we gotta tell you to stop drinkin’,” he murmurs, stolidly grabbing your face within one of his hands — thumb on your cheek, four fingers on the other. “you’re nineteen. don’t get fucked up.”

you shove his hand away, pushing at it with the both of yours. “ ‘m grown, how m-many times do i have to tell the both of you that . . . stalker. f-fuckin’ stalker.”

how did they find you? you debated on blocking the both of their accounts from yours after removing them, however, doubled back in fear of you going too far. at this very moment, you regret it. you should have gone with your first mind. 

onyankopon has the gall to chuckle — to smile and gaze at you as if you were just a silly, little thing . . one who was just speaking to speak, has no real idea of what was going on or what she was saying. unable to help it, your lips lour into a firm pout and you hold eye contact when reaching a curled fist back then letting it slam against his pectoral. “move,” you hiss, brows linked. “if you don’t move, i swear—“

“—whatchu’ gon’ do?” swiftly, his hand curls around the column of your neck. 

your mouth clenches shut as you stand there, nevertheless, refusing to back down. the milieu surrounding you both appears to fall silent while your eyes remain rooted upon one another’s. the impassivity of his own is blatant. his eyebrows lift and he leans his face closer down to yours, “say it,” he softly demands. his fingers flex around your throat and on instinct, your head tilts further up so that you’re able to pull in an easier breath. “whatchu you gon’ do, mama?”

eren is never too far away from ony . . . you should have known that he’d reveal himself come enough time passing. your vision of the rest of the club is obstructed by yet another tall, stout figure. you no longer can see a thing, only them. 

“ugh!” you huff and push onyankopon’s hand from your neck, fighting to elbow your way through them, withal, unsurprised when one of the two holds you right where you are.

“you drunk?” eren’s tipping your chin up and while at the same instant you ask, “so what?” onyankopon’s muttering a calm, “she’s tipsy.”

so, you’re tipsy and shaking ass — eren inhales a deep breath and, surprisingly, steps aside after a few seconds, opening a gape wide enough to allow you to pass through. your skepticism is evident, nonetheless, you push your way out and immediately grab hold of an oblivious, dancing giselle’s hand to tug her in the direction of the dance floor. he watches you until your body vanishes within a sea of others. “let her go,” he’s mumbling to onyankopon, falling down onto the sofa and making himself comfortable. “let’er do whatever the fuck she wants. she’s comin’ back home tonight, though,” tipping a shot back, he then shrugs while gulping it down. “cryin’ or not.”

onyankopon can’t help it though.

with each glimpse of you on the dance floor he catches, he’s lured in — enticed by the glossy pout of your lips before they stretch into a captivating smile, the sway of your curled, butt length, knotless braids, pinned back with twinkling clips studded with gems, your ass . . . fat, perky, and round — seemingly fighting to spill out of another signature, tiny skirt as you rolled it within a crotch . . . a crotch not covered by another skirt or dress your friends wear, but instead jeans . .

suddenly concentrating, his head slowly leans in forward and he only has to see the fine dusting of hair along a face of the person holding onto your waist before he’s walking over. 

“fuck no,” he’s scoffing and with enough ease to rival snatching candy from a gluttonous child, he’s pulling you into his chest, calmly staring, waiting for the man to make a move, albeit, when all he gets is two hands being pulled up to shoulders as a form of yield, his focus is placed directly on you.

you’re still humming and swaying to the lyrics of veeze’s song, gomd, regards only focused on yourself. you fit comfortably within his arms, plush and warm. when he squeezes his arms around you, your body softens up, as if it was on purely instinct. “ony,” you’re groaning when he leans down to kiss the pane of your shoulder — once more, his scent and stature being the dead giveaway. “no, no,” he’s uttering into your ear, tightening his hold on you once more when you attempt to squirm away. “can let you get away with a lot of shit, ( ❤︎ ), but dancin’ on another nigga’s a no go.”

you’re turning to face him when arrives the confession, “yeah?” you can’t help it. he feels good, looks even better with a plate of gold molded around the bottom row of his teeth. your hands reach for his arms, then you tug them upwards so that they remain on the sweet curve of your hips, silently telling him to keep them there. “ ‘m single though, no?”

onyankopon appreciates the difference between you sober and not. he supposes he gets a closer insight on what’s going on in your little brain through her. you don’t hesitate on your words and shy away in that precious manner he’s gotten used to. “. . . you can call it that.” your hips start to rock, a rhythmic sway from left to right and he follows, pushing your chest closer into his own.

“we’re all single, right?” 

when he gazes into your eyes, he sees it . . . you know the truth, you’re awaiting the moment to catch if he lies. licking his lips, onyankopon hesitates, “. . somewhat.”

your head tilts, “wha’does that mean?”

“means shit is complicated.”

“between who?”

his head tilts back as he bellows out an attractive laugh, unable to reign it back in when it falls out. you acting as though you are oblivious is amusing. “( ❤︎ ),” he dips his head into your neck again, keeping it there. you feel the tepid gusts of his breath blowing over that specific area of it, the one that tickles and makes your core heat all the while, when he murmurs, “mama, why you makin’ this so difficult, mm?”

you shove him away.

ony thinks you’re going to pout, huff, scream, however, when he sees the brewing of dew that begins to brim your eyes, his own soften. you’re turning before he can say another word, slipping through the crowd with little ‘pardon me’s and ‘sorry’s so that you can enter the section once more, grab your bag from lana’s hand after saying a quick goodbye and telling her that you’ll text, before you’re making your way towards the exit.

both eren and ony are hot on your heels. “hold on, hold on, hold on.”

the air outside is crisp. when a gust of it flies over your heated body as you push through the doors, it dries your eyes, and sobers you quickly. outside of the building, the world is much quieter. it soothes your racing brain, and you’re ignoring the two of them, steps firm and quick as you open your phone, click on uber and start the process of requesting a ride. “can you chill?” eren’s voice rocks upon the thin line of frustration and despair as he stops himself in front of you, stepping from side to side as do you to keep you from taking another. “jus’ . . stop for a minute, alright?”

“eren, just let me leave,” you blub out through a defeated whine. “can i go?”

a muscle within his jaw ticks, “not until we have a conversation, no.”

“what is there to talk about?”

a pulsing silence follows your words. tension is thick — it extends and swells until the pressure of it broadens into eren’s chest and has him quietly saying, “one conversation then we’ll let you leave,” he mumbles. “conversation out of the fucking public, yeah?”

your arms fold and you look away from the both of them as you mull it over. you’re cold, goosebumps send the hairs of your skin standing upright, has one of your ankles crossing over the other in a poor attempt to warm your legs, and your uber is said to be over twenty minutes away. “okay,” you grumble. “. . ‘m cold.”

“i wonder why,” onyankopon hums, leading you all to the direction of his car that’s parked on the corner. he opens the door to the backseat, allowing you to climb in first before he slips into the driver’s and eren in the passenger. truthfully, you’re nervous. you feel as though you have so much to say, and still, so little. so much to profess, yet it all lies at the back of your throat, viscous and curdled. 

when seated upon the couch within eren’s home, you watch him and ony go about kicking off their shoes and turning on a few lights. eren adjusts the thermometer to heat the apartment up for a moment during which, onyankopon grabs one of your favorite, soft baked, strawberry granola bars from inside of the pantry — a mere snack for you to nibble and sober up on. “hm,” he hands it to you over the back of the couch you currently lay cuddled up on underneath a chunky knitted throw blanket. “want water, too?”

shaking your head, you begin to unwrap it with nimble fingers, “. . thank you.”

the words sit at the pit of your stomach and sweet strawberry and fresh grain sticks uncomfortably to the roof of your mouth, making you stroke your tongue against the roof of it . . back and forth, back and forth. “i s-saw . . both . . you two . . c-couple nights ago,” they are blatted out before you can even attempt to trawl them back in. oddly, you feel ashamed when you find your admission no longer enclosed within the vault of your brain, however, floating within the space the three of you find yourselves in. “wasn’t spyin’ or anything, thought it was an intruder, uhm . .” those yucky feelings are returning. the ones that make you feel as though you were pathetic, revolting, stupid. “i didn’t want . . i don’t — . . i h-hope you both aren’t upset, i jus’ . . i know i should’ve jus’ stayed in bed and i shouldn’t have felt, mm, be so bothered—“

“ma, chill,” eren’s muttering, prior to you finding yourself being maneuvered, pulled in close so that your body is practically molded into the side of his. a soft kiss is sown against the crown of your head as you sniffle and wall your face away with your small hands, refusing to look at them. “we’re not upset with you. fuck no.”

mewling, you shake your head, thumbing with a ring on his finger. your own tremble with the intensity of too many emotions boiling inside of you, “you are, jus’ say it—“

their voices are unified when they say, “we’re not.”

your eyes flit up after a while, slow and warily. you seem to calculate their emotions, not making a move to say another word until one of them does. “there’s no need for apologies,” ony plainly says. “not from you, at least. you good, ight? we’re sorry . . you had to fuckin’ find out like that.”

shaking your head, it’s clear you feel as though their apology is unwarranted, “no. don’t have’ta say sorry to me. i s-should’ve known you guys were in a relationship—“

eren’s slowly widening smile and onyankopon’s scoff of a chuckle is enough reaction for you to pause and await clarification. were they laughing because they didn’t take you as someone so dumb and shallow that it took you so long to realize? . . . god, with each passing second you seem to feel worse and worse. 

you’re curling away — slowly working yourself back onto the opposite cushion, however, eren’s arm is pulling you back against him, “me and o’ are . .” he hesitates, clenching his jaw, fighting to place what the two of them do into comprehensible terms. 

“we fuck sometimes.”

again you sniffle, waiting for one of them to provide more context, “. . platonically?”

they stumble once more, until eren answers, “. . not really.”

“. . . so feelings are involved?—“

“—this is why i said this shit is complicated, ma,” onyankopon cuts in. “he’s mine, i’m his.” the two of them are sure that feelings got involved within their friendship close to a year and a half ago now. what used to be amicable, nonsexual hang outs progressed into something more. it’d built over the course of fifteen months until nearly three ago, when it all reached a zenith, onyankopon’s cock ended up buried inside of the grooved, pulsating channel of eren’s throat after a drunken night at a kickback thrown by mikasa.

you don’t pretend to understand. “mmm.” you realize there’s no point. they’re together, and though your feelings may feel as though they’ve been pummeled and bashed into piteous  threads of nothing, you know that this will only be a fleeting emotion. you’re fully prepared to cry until your heart’s content and work on bouncing back to your old self within a few weeks’ time, already rolling over which rom com and ice cream flavor you think will make you feel somewhat better tonight in your head when abruptly, you feel the comforting stroke of eren’s thumb stroking over the bare skin of your hip. “uhm,” suddenly, he seems apprehensive — glistening emeralds of jade snap back and forth between yours, quiet words stuck within his throat. “can i — . . i have to do somethin’ . .” he mumbles. “alright?”

“okay, yeah,” you softly reply. “what is it?” you’re prepared to stand and move out of his way, thinking he wants you to grab the remote or something.

despite that, he shakes his head and keeps you still, “jus’ close your eyes.”

after a few moments, you timidly comply. there’s the sound of shifts, prior to the sensation of something being dangerously close to your own face that only has your body tensing with fear as time ticks on and realizing it has no plans to move . . seconds feel more akin to minutes as you await whatever he has planned, “. . . eren wha—“

you’ve been kissed before.

once . . . the night of your prom by your date. it’d been a sloppy thing — he’d blurted out that he’d been crushing on you since the beginning of junior year . . . saw you in your cheer uniform at the football team’s first homecoming game and wanted to make you his since. it had been an experience you continue to describe with one word, dreadful. tongue got involved far too quickly than you’d expected, his nails dug too tight into the cushion of your waist and it made you wince and pull away before the kiss progressed passed a mere six seconds. all in all . . . traumatizing.

initially, eren kisses you softly. if you could manage to put it into detail and explain it to someone without your brain short circuiting halfway through, it’s almost as though he tests the waters . . . gives you sometime to pull away, to push him away if it hadn’t been what you expected or wanted. 

what he doesn’t know is that you’ve wanted this since the night you saw him for the first time again, since you caught eye of him seated at the bar, since he pulled you into his arms, wrapped his arms around you tight, invited you into his home, revealed himself to be just as sweet, gentlemanly, thoughtful, and kind as before. since you’ve begun to relearn one another — seen him for the first time with a familiar retainer on come the both of you bumping into one another at two am, yearning for a glass of cold water. since accompanying him to a session at his tattoo shop, watching him hone in and lose himself within his exquisite craft . . . yeah, he doesn’t know any of this.

his surprise is palpable when you give in, melting like sweet vapor within the sun, and taking hold of the shoulders of his shirt to pull him closer. 

eren feels the trembling breaths you exhale. what were once shy caresses soon inch into desperate grips as you fist the fabric of his tee within your hands and tug him even closer. its as though you can’t get enough. his lips are soft . . smooth. he smells faintly of weed, however, tastes as sweet as toffee. you all but whine when he pulls away, just barely deciphering his hand weakly ringed around the pillar of your neck. 

god, you’re the picture of pure debauchery.

eren hadn’t kissed you for longer than twelve seconds, he’s sure, and yet, your lipgloss is completely smudged, lips no longer glistening with the cosmetic, but of his saliva. quickly, your eyes flash with emotions . . nevertheless of you trying to hold them in, your irises have always been expressive — constantly conveying how you feel before your mouth does. he sees how long it takes for your actions to catch up with your brain, then you’re somewhat frowning, as if you were confused on the reason of why he’d stopped, then you are shying away again upon taking heed of your current predicament.

“uhm.” quietly, you release a breath.

unable to help it, eren smirks, “that was okay, right?” he mutters, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. 

was more than okay. “uh huh.”

you rub them together, finding your eyes drifting. they slide from eren’s to the thick, double hued plushness of onyankopon’s — both men notice. “. . don’t do that,” ony chuckles, eyes closed as he rubs at the bridge of his nose with two of his knuckles. “chill, aight?”

it’s only fair that you deserve a taste of him, too. maybe you’re being greedy . . .

“you both aren’t gonna let me leave, are you?” delicately, you ask the question, falling back against the comfortable cushions of the sofa. in reality, the idea of leaving and heading back to lana’s is now buried within the furthest margin of your mind. you watch the two of them share a look before onyankopon shrugs, “. . we’re not gonna keep you here if you don’t wanna be . . we’d prefer it,” he begins to smile. “if you stayed though.”

you hum a soft, “mhmmm,” with a giggle, pushing your cold, little toes underneath eren’s thigh. “. . so, what are we gonna do now?”

the three of you are quiet for a moment, letting the question steep within the matter of your brains. there’s plenty of things you all are able to do. sleep, is one. watch a movie, bake some cookies, dive more into detail about the ever-growing feelings the three of you share for one another that seem to weave tighter and tighter into a jumbled mess with each passing day — lots of things. “watch a movie in my room,” eren offers while leaning his head against ony’s arm that lays outstretched along the back of the couch. “if you want, mama, ’s up to you.”

immediately, you nod. you simply just want to be around them, everything else is trivial. “can we watch somethin’ scary?”

“somethin’ scary?” you’re all beginning to stand. onyankopon reaches his arms back to give a nice stretch and you allow yourself to take only one peek at the slip of skin and dusting of hair that traces down his belly button and disappears within his jeans. “y’sure you can handle somethin’ scary, pretty girl?”

“mhm!” you’re nodding and smiling over your bottom lip that your top row of teeth nibbles into. “ ‘m a big girl, ony.”

“mm, yeah?” he’s tossing his arm over your shoulder, leading you down the hall. “lets see about that then.”

the movie eren chooses is thirteen ghosts. he explained to you that it’s a bit old, figures it’s something that you should be able to handle. before you all climb into his bed, you hesitate, unsure of where to lay — whether beside eren or ony. “hm,” they discern the dilemma all over your face and rub at the opened space between them. 

the movie begins and you examine how the three of you all sit up — legs outstretched, postures aligned with the help of eren’s firm pillows. you’re not sure of exactly who lays down first, nonetheless, the other two follow and about halfway into the film, you’re curled up with your back towards eren, front facing onyankopon. you’ve been trying to focus for the past forty five minutes, fighting to understand the plot, names of characters, and what’s going on, however, your brain is engrossed in all things ony and eren, eren and ony. 

you feel as though you’re breathing too loud, moving too much, obviously not paying attention — you can already hear giselle demanding you to get out of your head, to relax, and stop thinking. 

it’s hard not to, though. 

ony lays upon his back . . an arm folded behind his head, the other draped across his stomach. he took off his crewneck — leaves him dressed in a plain white tee, jeans, and his socks. your eyes fix upon the large mitten of his hand . . his trimmed fingernails, the web of veins that decorate the back of it neath another beautiful tattoo of a moth. 

you can’t help it . . the tips of your acrylics start at his elbow before they’re trailing, crawling higher and higher — languid and idle. he doesn’t move or push you away when you coyly pause with your hand above his own. he lets you touch him, trace his tattoo with your fingers, press the pad of one against the tendon in his wrist. “sorry,” you soon murmur.

he looks down at you, “hm? . . what for?”

your eyes remained fixed upon your own fingers, letting them hook beneath his. “. . didn’t ask for permission . . to touch.”

you’re really something fucking else.

“you good,” he softly replies. “don’t trip.”

ony watches your head move — you pull it up to look at him and your eyes shift, down to his lips again. he doesn’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, or if you are. what he does know is that he needs you to stop . . needs you to turn yourself back forward and watch the movie, quietly trace his tattoos, close your eyes and sleep . . . anything to give him a peace of mind. nevertheless, you don’t do either. you huff a bratty, little sigh out through your nose and squeeze at one of his fingers with all of yours.

“ony.”

it’s sudden when he moves, when he lifts up on an elbow and presses you flat on your back so that there’s some inches of space separating you both again, “don’t start nothin’ you not gon’ be able to finish . . alright?” softly, he demands an answer from you, awaiting a head nod, a shake, something. the only thing he gets is just another glance of your eyes carting down to his lips, watching them shape around his words, the slat of gold still encasing the base of his teeth. it’s as if you were dazed — brain full of fluff, his words enter one ear and quickly exit out of the other.

chuckling quietly out of disbelief, onyankopon looks over at eren, “she think i’m playing, huh?”

the other man follows suit, lifting up on an elbow to look down at you with a soft smile, “. . . you want ‘yan to kiss you, mama?”

you squirm, mumbling a small, “yeah.”

“okay,” he calmly croons. “jus’ one kiss?”

“only one.”

you’re so sweet . . so pretty. onyankopon decides to indulge you — just this once. you feel his heavy hand on your thigh, wrapped around it, before he suddenly yanks you to tug you down a little bit lower. there we go. he captures your face between that comfortable cusp of his index finger and thumb, the thenar web, admiring you for a moment through weighty eyelids. you really want this . . . he’s bemused. you want him. truth be told, onyankopon had some doubts about the two of you. he thought you had your eyes sought out for eren, solely eren. 

however, when he kisses you . . he feels how much you’ve been wanting this, too. your arms envelop around the back of his neck to draw him nearer. you let him lead, lips smoothly trailing after his own, and then you try to mimic what your prom date had done to you to coax your mouth to open, only . . more delicately. instead of using teeth, you shyly skim the tip of your tongue against the parted seam of onyankopon’s lips, blossoming when he lets you in . . and the first glide of his tongue amongst yours has a sound escaping from the pit of your chest — something stifled and small. a weak whimper.

it only seems to light a fuel within ony — when your mouth opens wider, his does, too. it’s consuming, the way that he kisses, in a strangely good way. he pulls away after some time and allows you to inhale a shallow breath before your lips are being tapped with soft, repeated pecks, then he’s returning back for more . . for a fiercer taste, a longer one.

then, unexpectedly, he’s gone. his touch, his lips, the taste of him . . it all vanishes within a single moment.

you’re left slightly panting, blinking your eyes up at the high ceiling above you, letting yourself relish in the still tingling sensation that lingers upon the gentle pads of your lips. “we all good now?” ony forces himself to keep his hands where they should be, to himself. 

no, you want to say. no, you’re not all good.

the light cotton of your underwear feels warmer than usual . . sticky. when you spread your knees apart an inch, the tepid air of the room flies in between your thighs and feels nippy. 

quietly, eren scans you . . . sliding his eyes down from your heaving breasts, your plush tummy, to your thighs that now are spread the tiniest bit open. his fingers twitch in your direction, though he stops himself, “you feel okay?”

surprisingly, your answer is honest. you whine out a small, “no,” and they both watch your hands grasp the bottom hem of your skirt. you tug it down, and yet your thighs rub against one another, laggard and incessant. you smell them, you feel them, you’re between them and still, nothing is enough. what was once just wet and uncomfortable starts to plain out ache . . it’s painful, honestly. “hurts,” you mumble. your fingers slide up your thighs — with it, they bring your skirt. 

“no, no, nah,” eren’s chuckling, stopping you midway. “you don’t want this, baby.”

you don’t . . . you’re not ready for the both of them, yet. he doesn’t think you’ll ever be.

surprisingly, you’re whining, “yes, i do,” then grabbing his wrist, tugging it between your thighs. “ ‘m a big girl, eren . . really.”

you have your knees enveloped around his hand. your eyes are wide, glistening, and full of so much trust. you are a big girl, now . . eren has to remember that. you aren’t just mateo’s baby sister anymore — all this time, he thinks that’s what’s been hindering himself from proceeding with you any further. you are everything he wants, everything he’ll ever need. and still, he coasts his attention over to onyankopon, awaiting his decision. you both are. if he decides to wait . . then that’s what you’ll all do — wait.

“you sure?” ony’s voice is deep, quiet.

“mhm.”

and so, you’ll continue.

for the sake of fulfilling his own selfish desires, eren leans down and captures your lips for another breathtaking kiss. predictably, your taste careens the line of sweet and tart . . similar to a lush fruit torte. you hook him in the damndest of ways — the way you taste, the way you breathe, the way you simply exist . . . 

you tremble underneath the first sweep of someone’s hand across your breast. the top you wear is ribbed and cropped — thin straps are pieces of pink ribbon that you had to manually tie yourself to fit your frame more comfortably. because of it being so tight and showing a large expanse of your back, you had to go without a bra and pasties. your nipples harden into tiny peaks of steel, bold and plain, pushing against the material. fondly, onyankopon’s thumb glides across one. he pushes down, pinches, rolls it between his fingers. and you hiccup the sweetest, little sounds, perking your back up with a curve in your spine, “we can take this off?” gently, he asks the question, watching you rapidly nod your head, already lifting your arms.

your voice is soft, whiny, “mhm. yes, please.”

he’s smiling. “alright, ma’.”

your braids are long, you have to sit up in efforts to keep your shirt from snagging on them when he hoists it above your head. afterwards, it’s tossed somewhere, already long forgotten. 

suddenly, you’re nervous again . . laying back down, arms instinctively molding into a fold to shield yourself away from two pairs of eyes — brooding and ardent. “why’re you shy now?” eren’s asking, handsome grin splitting his lips to reveal his teeth. 

you nibble on your lip, feeling a stretch of warmth blossom across your nose, “. . c-cause you both make m’nervous.”

“we make you nervous?” onyankopon finds the admission cute. 

“yeah,” you sigh, deciding to let your arms carefully fall. there’s no point in hiding, you think, and what they’re met with is a pair of plumb, round tits . . dotted here and there with precious beauty marks along an expanse of pretty, brown skin. 

“don’t be,” eren murmurs, reaching out to cup one within the crater of his hand. “want us to make you feel good, right?”

his tongue suddenly scouring across the soft puffiness of your areola to beckon the sensitive bud of your nipple into his mouth wrings a unique gasp out of you — a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. it’s something weak . . wringed and broken. he pulls off with a wet pucker and a blasé ‘hmm,’ taking a moment to gaze at your chest for a moment as if he were trying to gauge if he liked what he did or not. “felt good?”

you hiccup a quiet, honest, “y-yeah.”

onyankopon steals another kiss when eren tips his head down for one more taste. he swallows every gasp, whimper — clutches at the doughy skin of your hip to keep you from squirming too much. “pretty ass,” he murmurs. “how long you been wantin’ this? be honest.”

you cover your face with an arm, “s-since — ah, eren . .” you mewl and slide your hand through the soft locks of his hair, tugging at his nape when he pulls off of your tit again with a loud pop. “s-since t-that day . . in the kitchen . . . when you came over and h-helped cook breakfast for the first time.”

the two of them had been shirtless that morning — dressed only in sweats after a lengthy gym session and taking a shower. the scene was somewhat domestic, you think, something out of a film. both of them moving about the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge and cabinets as you sat at the island and tried to keep your admiration of their beautiful, sculpted torsos to a minimum by burying yourself within your phone. 

“that long, mm?”

“c-couldn’t help it,” you hook your fingers within the neckline of ony’s shirt, tracing a finger across the gold, cuban link he wears. “you both are so pretty . . . ’s not fair.”

how anyone could be around the two of them and not catch feelings is a mystery in and of itself. it was easy to fall for eren, and succumbing to the ones you felt for onyankopon was, too — just as effortlessly as breathing. your lips are pouted when you grab at his hand, dragging it down your tummy, “wan’ you both . . right here.” both watch how beautifully you melt when onyankopon’s fingers find the precious bud of your clit embellished by the sodden cotton of your underwear. 

“shit,” eren drags out the word slow, viewing how easily your thighs part open to give them an open image of what lies in between them — your shit’s fat. it’s clothed behind a pink thong, traced with white lace and a darling, threaded rose sits within the middle of the top hemming. the chubby lips of your pussy swallows the material, tiny hole spasms around it, dampening the color of bubblegum into a lewd rouge. 

inquisitively, one of eren’s fingers nudges at the hollow delve. he feels your walls clench before a ripple of wetness is breaking through the fibers and leaking down to the cleave of your ass. ony breathes out a gentle curse, beginning a slow tempo while tracing neat, little circles on your clit, “right here, mama?” his arm rests above your head, and with that same hand, he strokes his thumb comfortingly along your temple. your hips shift, rocking up into their touches, pulling away from them, you can’t seem to make up your mind. 

your voice is rising in pitch, “y-yes . . please.”

“whatchu want then?” he’s asking. “we’ll give it to you, you know that right?”

will they? they’re disappointed when you turn your face away and toss your wrist across your mouth, clearly refusing to say. it’s cute though, eren supposes. it’s cute that you’re timid enough to not voice what it’s clear you want, nonetheless, comfortable with their fingers rubbing on your pussy. “can we take these off?” he stows a kiss upon another sweet mole, peeks out from right above the top of your underwear trimming, and waits until you nod before the four of his fingers on both hands are hooking into the sides of them and your pathetic excuse for a skirt, and he’s pulling them down. 

it’s a mess . . . you’re a mess.

webs of slick cling onto the seat of your panties, breaking off into feeble strings when he tugs the material of them down far enough. when snapped away, they gather with the rest of the silken sap that glosses your lips. it’s only right that you reach a hand down to take a feel of and assess the damage, and you don’t seem all that surprised to hear the faint squishing sound of your fingers slipping and sliding between them. you whimper, “ ‘m sorry . .” you’re frowning, genuinely upset. “ ‘m makin’ a mess.”

you’re something else — genuinely. 

“don’t apologize . . do not fuckin’ apologize, alright?” eren’s whispering, eyes transfixed on the oeuvre that is your pussy. “you ever touch yourself, baby?”

you mewl, “only a few times.”

“yeah?” he breathes, pushing one of your legs up higher in order for the light of the television to illuminate your core. “show us . . show us how you make yourself feel good.”

you’re starting to whine again, “eren.” you’re embarrassed — always one intimidated of toys, you’ve relied simply on your fingers for the last year or so since becoming acquainted with your body. it’s rare when you actually even push one inside. your nails click against each other when you slide two of them, ring and middle, up to your clit and begin to stroke slow, sloppy circles atop it. “l-like that,” delicately, you sigh, letting your muscles melt, thighs fall further apart. 

onyankopon parts them even wider, needing to see the exact moment when your little hole clenches up again and releases another wave of slick, adding onto the small puddle that’s seeping through the soft, black fleece of eren’s comforter underneath the cheeks of your ass. his dick strains against the cool metal of his zipper, he can hear nothing but your dear sniffles and moans through the rushing blood of his ears . . . aside from eren, he’s never desired a person as much as he does you. always a man known as cool, calm, and collected, he’s stunned himself when realizing that, regarding the both of you, he’s willing to just about walk to the ends of the world and then some if it’d make you happy. 

he’s never known someone to be so easily cherished before you entered his life. to be truthful, his feelings for you scare him . . you scare him.

“sometimes, i jus’ . .” you never finish your sentence, opting to instead let them see for themselves. your fingers move — slip down so that the pads of them are flushed right up against the opening of your cunt, then you start to faintly push them back and forth. and granted, the action is mere, the sounds your pussy produces are fucking filthy. it’s obvious that you like it — the pressure, that is. you never let them slip inside, only squidge them against that hungry, little pit.

eren crowds in closer, “shit, she’s clenching again.”

another tide of slick from your cunt, another rush of blood to the tips of their cocks. “needy ass pussy.” onyankopon’s suddenly pushing your legs up further . . until your knees knock against your shoulders. you squeak in the same moment he tells eren, “slide a finger in, pa’.”

eyes wide, you’re watching, dazed, as eren’s soft lips pleat before a cool dollop of his spit is dripping from them and onto your pussy. the sight is nothing short of obscene, all the more so when the first knuckle of his middle finger is gliding inside you with enough ease to rival butter and you’re already trembling, mewling for more. he flits it inside until he hits the base, murmuring out to ony, “ ’s fuckin’ tight.”

“yeah?” suddenly, he’s roused to know, “. . anybody else ever been in there? y’a virgin, baby?”

your eyes are closed, acrylics digging into the flexed skin of his wrists as you nod your head and whimper a tender, “mhm.” hips buck when, empirically, eren curls his digit, avid to find one, specific spot. “wan’ you to take it . . you and ‘ren.”

another flow of blood and their balls tense. ony’s sure his tip is probably purple now. “wait, you sure?” reality breaks through his lust dazed brain and hits him with a swarm of questions. are you sure?, is the brunt of them. are you absolutely positive? but when your eyes open and he takes in the sheer amount of faith and certainty that swims within them, suddenly he’s aware that you’ve probably thought about this before, likely, over and over again. 

“m s-s-sure . . oh my god,” your back’s curving upwards when eren starts to stroke his finger inside of you, firm and steady. 

“you trust us that much?” he hums softly, stamping a sweet line of kisses up the plush chub of your tummy, within the valley of your tits, to your neck. “trust us enough to break your lil pussy in? shape it only for our cocks — that much, baby?”

the muscle of your thighs tauten as your pussy squelches around the single digit. you feel dirty . . . nevertheless, in the best of ways. “f-fuck me,” you’re admitting quietly, tipping your head back when the even edges of his teeth are sinking into the flesh of your neck, scented of apple and creamy iris. “fuck me, please?”

you’re so needy . . . “not yet,” onyankopon lowers down to peck a slow kiss upon your lips. “nah, i need a taste first.”

eren’s finger is gone and you watch them maneuver — smoothly . . effortlessly. once again, showcasing that the bond the two of them share travels far deeper than surface level. onyankopon stands, and before eren turns to replace his spot, he does the same and sharply tugs you towards him by the backs of your thighs until your ass nears the edge of the bed. 

your heart thuds at the sight of him . . . of his hair, luminous and long, swaying over his strong shoulders, the dark glint that wallows within the deep emeralds of his eyes, reading him knowing something that you don’t, his pretty smile, the slightly longer, sharper canines. and then, precipitately, deep, warm tanned skin is soon replaced by a smooth, velvety dark brown. emeralds are now smoky quartz. locks of faint ringlets are three sixty waves. 

you watch, lips parted in awe as onyankopon reaches behind his neck with both hands for the hem of his shirt to then swiftly tug over his head. he’s soon kneeling with a soft breath being exhaled from his nose, adjusting his chain while smirking and fixing his eyes upon yours, “don’t move too much, aight?” he mumbles, curtly pulling you even further until your ass hangs off of the bed, suspended in the air by only his hands. “ion like runners.”

“w-waitwait, wait . . ony.”

you wanted to mentally prepare yourself . . gather some shame. albeit, he simply ignores you. the warm pad of his tongue is wide; it parts the thick skin of your lips without his fingers needing to. your eyes flip back into your skull, legs preparing to close around his head until you hear a small ‘aht . . nuh uh, princess. open ‘em’ and shortly after, eren’s hands are finding the backs of your knees to keep them bent and spread wide. 

onyankopon suckles at your clit, lets his saliva loll out from his tongue, dips the tip of it inside of your hole until nearly half of it is buried inside of you — in short, he’s a fucking messy eater.

he makes you tremble no less than three minutes in. you’ve never experienced a sensation like it . . . mind staggering lust that is. no one’s ever made you feel as though you were two seconds away from being lit on fire if their touch were to ever leave you. 

you’re sobbing out a whiny, “o-ony,” when the thick pillows of his lips pinch the aching puff of your clit, rolling it between them before he lets it snap back into place with a loud smooch. down his tongue glissades, prior to it returning up, curling and scouring every inch of you without him needing to move his head an inch. 

“of course you taste this fuckin’ good,” he mumbles, eyes gliding to meet yours. he wants you to watch him, wants you to notice how good he makes you feel — kill any other thoughts of you being with another human being on this earth aside from him and his boy’s for as long as time exists. you’re theirs now. forever and always. 

his attention on you is diverted when one of his hands is gone from underneath your hips so that he can slowly watch himself ease a finger, deep and snug, inside of your little pussy. you hiccup, head tilting, back arching, hips fighting to buck. he hums, “pull it in — that’s right, yeah . . ‘m givin’ you one more — stop fuckin’ movin’.” he slips his ring finger in beside his middle, watching how wet they reappear when exiting your body.

“ion think we gon’ need lube, baby,” he utters for eren. fuck no, you’re dripping wet. 

sniffling, your toes, glossy with a cute, fresh, baby pink french tip, curl when his finger does the same. and you’re thinking that this is tolerable — his pace is slow enough for you to breathe in deep enough breaths to calm your racing heart . . . that’s until it increases speed, and with that, he also does something with his wrist — he rotates it, twisting his fingers with every pull out of your cunt, which in turn, leads them to begin to caress a raw, throbbing knurl of nerves inside of you that has tears scathing the surface of your eyes. 

“f-fuck, fuck, wait—“ quickly, your hands are shooting down to grab onto his, then both men are moving. eren snatches your wrists, gathering them within one of his own hands, and onyankopon swats a thick, reprimanding smack against one of the orbs of your ass. the sweet sob out you give is exceptional to hear.

“stay still.”

you take it that he’s found your g spot, because with every thrust inside, your pussy oozes . . no longer a thin, translucent slick, but sticky, gooey cream. you tremble, slumping your head back against eren’s thigh, feeling drool pool upon the surface of your tongue. he’s smirking when he looks down at you, dipping his thumb inside of your mouth, admiring how cutely you wrap your lips around it. have you already gone dumb? 

his eyes gaze deep into yours.

no, not yet . . . close, very fucking close, but not yet. be that as it may, they glimmer with awareness, he’s sure you still know your own name. 

“want you to cum, okay?” he utters, slipping his thumb free from your mouth to find the hardened nub of your nipple and tug. “whenever you feel it, want you to tell us.”

onyankopon’s tongue has found your clit again. your eyebrows furrow, nose cutely wrinkles with the onslaught of too much pleasure, “okay,” you snivel. “oh my . . god, why does this feel so good?” you sound broken — frustrated, almost. wrists wriggle within his hand, eren doesn’t think you do it on purpose, nonetheless, he knows that if he lets them go, they’ll revert right back into pushing ony away. 

letting his spit fall onto your pussy once more, the man between your legs licks his lips, halting the thrusts of his fingers to instead suddenly press them in deep and snap them, up and down.

it’s abrupt, the sweet squeaks you give — they’re immediate, “ ‘mcumming’mcumming . .” your shuddering legs latch closed around his hand. “daddy, ‘m cumming.”

forcefully, onyankopon shoves your legs back up and out of his way, “push it out,” he hums, “all of it . . every last fuckin’ drop.”

your pussy spasms, gurgling around his digits and drooling out honeyed cream. eren lets your wrists go and naturally, you’re grabbing onto him, pulling him down closer so that you’re able to bury your face within the slope of his neck in efforts to quiet your sounds. “c-can’t take — a-ah, daddy no,” you’re sobbing when his fingers enter the mix, finding your clit to trace messy halos onto. 

“jus’ take it,” he’s mumbling, kissing along the mounds of your tits. “there you go, fuck.”

when ony’s fingers are removed, so are eren’s. you whimper and pant, thinking you’re in the clear before a palm is falling down onto your cunt with a thick smack. 

from then on, you’re handled sweetly . . given a tender clit kiss, pushed back further up atop of the bed. you watch eren undress — socks first, then he unfastens his belt, the button of his jeans, and kicks them off. shirt torn away, your eyes flit between admiring the swirls of ink traced along the sleeves of his arms, the chasmic gorges mapping out the abs of his torso, or the bulge of his cock, pushing up against the grey fabric of his briefs. 

he’s big . . . intimidatingly so. 

he combs a hand through his hair, sparing a look at the mess of wet between your thighs and then, with his face is unchanging, he walks over to the nightstand, opens a drawer, grabs something, then flawlessly tosses it into the hands of onyankopon. “jus’ in case.”

your heart is pumping when his briefs are removed, you try not to gasp too loud when finally in eyesight of one of the main centers of your sometimes lewd daydreams and envisages. “. . oh  . . goodness,” you whisper. you gather it’s about eight and a half inches and, shockingly, a shade darker than him — akin to a toasted brown with a fuchsia colored tip, fat and leaky. his balls are firm . . chubby, dusted only with a few fine hairs to match his happy trail. it’s a beautiful thing, honestly. cut, long as much as it is thick, and veiny. what had made your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets had been the sight of barbells — small and silver, three of them, running vertically down his frenulum.

when he’s hovering over you, your face caged in by the thick muscle of his forearms, you’re still staring at it, fingers itching to feel. eren can tell. he’s chuckling, using a tendon underneath his stomach to make his dick jump and beckon you, “the piercings, huh?” he mumbles. “you can touch ‘em, mama, i don’t mind.”

“okay . . u-uhm, yeah,” you reach down and gingerly wrap your fist around him. he doesn’t react much aside from his tummy tensing, albeit, when your thumb strokes the three, little piercings, he sucks in some air between his teeth. “they don’t hurt?” you inquire quietly, eyes focused on a frothy bead of precum forming from the small hole atop his tip.

“no, jus’,” he bucks into your hand and gives another pretty smile. “fuckin’ sensitive.”

“oh,” you return it with a giggle. “. . . ’s pretty. i want one now.”

eren hums, “yeah? wanna match wi’me?”

“mhmm.”

you’re cute. you are really fucking cute.

he seizes your lips for another kiss, and with his legs, he slowly separates your own more further apart. the action reminds you of what’s about to happen. you reach for his shoulders, wrapping your hands around them tight. between the both of your lips, you whimper, “ ‘m scared.”

eren pulls away, face softened with gentle adoration, “you’re comfortable, yeah? y’still wanna do this?”

your responding nod is immediate. you do, you really do. 

“okay,” he kisses you again. “gonna go slow,” and with that, you feel the firm pillar of his cock beginning to rock between your lips, nice and easy. the tensed underside nudges at your clit with each move of his hips toward yours — you loosen with a soft moan. “think i can make you cum from jus’ this.”

you’re sure that you can. your clit is sensitive — still swollen and tingling with the assault of fingers and clever tongues. eren waits until he feels you gushing again, lubricating his cock with your desire and care. he waits until he hears the squelching, your sighs, your whimpers . . then he reaches down to take hold of the tip of his cock and carefully start to slide in. your body tenses.

“relax, mama,” ony’s crooning, keenly watching it all from near the opened window a few feet away where he sparks a thick blunt. 

“ ’s gonna hurt more if you flinch.”

you try. your eyes are tightly shut as you exhale a breath, “okay, o . . kay.”

eren finds the rigid nub of your clit, beginning to rub it in tight, stable circles. “like when i rub your clit, hm?” he whispers against your lips. “nice and quick.”

you mewl underneath his touch, nodding. you do. how quick the two of them have managed to learn your body is terrifying. you feel him push in another inch and with it, you focus more on his fingers, his voice, his lips. he smells yummy, you realize, and underneath the initial discomfort, you’re aware that there does seem to be a hidden pocket of pleasure, buried deep within it. when his balls are flushed against the knitted button of your ass, a quiet groan falls from your lips. you feel full — packed to the brim. in truth, it’s indescribable. 

eren dips his fingers into your mouth with one word mumbled, ‘open.’

you do so, allowing his middle and ring finger to slip against the pad of your tongue, collect some of your saliva upon them, then he’s gliding his hand back down, smearing it at his base. “gonna move now, okay?”

“uh huh.”

his first thrusts are slow . . shallow. he rocks in only about six inches, easing the taut, flexing muscles of your walls. “there you go,” he’s sighing, closing his eyes. when he decides to focus on how good it feels, he realizes that . . jesus fucking christ, your pussy is deadly divine. 

you sigh again, relax some more, open yourself further. “. . oh, fuck.”

you feel how much eren restrains himself, muscles within his arms and back tightening with the effort. it feels just as you thought — world staggeringly good. your fingers slide within his hair, arm tightens around his back. “deeper,” you whimper. “please.” you want him to give you all of him — every single inch. 

his voice is quiet, stifled, “you sure?”

you lift your hips, “yes, eren . . gimmie it.”

alright.

he gathers the slipping comforter within his fingers, lifting his head to look down into your eyes. his pupils are blown out, matching your own, and yet still, he makes sure you keep them focused on his when he suddenly presses in, then eases back out. you choke on your next mewl, eyes half lidded though remaining fixed upon his. it’s now a challenge, he supposes. who breaks it first. a slight, little smile starts to lift the corners of his lips when he does it again . . . and again, until he’s fucking you — nice and steady, firm and deep. you surrender without much of a fight given, throwing your head back, eyes shut, “f-fuck, eren.”

“ ‘m givin you what you wanted,” he softly huffs, grabbing one of your knees and bending it towards. “wanted me deeper, right?”

oh my god, it’s lewd, you find. the sound of smacking skin, his dick fucking your cream in and out of you, the moans and groans and sobs and cries. so, this is how it feels. eren’s cock is fat . . it manages to find crevices and crannies inside of you that you hadn’t even been sure existed. small hands find his hips and you sink your nails into them, mouth fallen agape.

“f-fuck,” eren grits out through his teeth. “my god, you’re takin’ it, baby — every . . fuckin’ inch. mm, feels good?”

you’re nodding your head, tits bouncing, legs agape, “feels s-so . . u-ungh!” 

words and reason knock against the barriers of your brain which drives more and more empty with each pummel of his cock within your fat, little pussy. you don’t want to think, don’t want to move — you want this until you physically can’t have it anymore. “daddy,” you whimper the name delicately, skating the opened gaps of your fingers through his hair once more to tug. “daddy, oh god.”

“yeah,” eren breathes, attentive to your words, your body, the soaked babbling of your pussy. “mm, i know — ‘m right here, mama. daddy’s right here.”

unanticipatedly, he pulls out. you both pant, watching as he grips his cock firmly at the base. he squeezes it . . once, twice, dips himself back in, then pulls right back out. “shit,” he moans. “pussy’s too good . . gonna make me cum.” it’s somewhere passed too good. he forces himself to get a grip. he doesn’t want to end this too early, fuck no.

and to somehow make matters worse, or rather, almost send eren into cardiac arrest, you lick your lips with a little smile before saying, “ ‘m on the shot . . you can cum in me, i’ll take it.”

it’s funny, he thinks. how you have the gall to appear shocked when he snaps himself right back in less than half a second after the statement spills from your mouth. yeah. you’ll take it. you’re going to fucking take it — one, two, three, maybe six loads, who knows how much he has inside of him tonight, but your little cunt’s going to take each one, he’ll make sure of it.

your pretty sounds are stolen from your mouth with each pounding thrust. no longer does eren lay atop of you, he’s grabbed you by the knees, bending them until they find your earlobes and with the weight of his body, he forces them to maintain the position while he braces for stability with his hands on the mattress above your head. 

his cock reaches deep, you find. plump, mushroom tip knocks incessantly at the grooved barrier of your cervix and here’s where the tears come . . warm, slow, and dribbling, falling down to your temples as you hold onto your own thighs, weeping for him to, “d-don’t stop, please, daddy, don’t stop.”

“mm, ’s all yours now, baby,” he groans. “ ’s all your dick . . for as long . . as y-you fuckin’ want it.”

you feel gooeyness dribbling down between the fat cheeks of your ass — sticky and warm. sparing a look over the folded rolls of your tummy, you find that eren’s dick is streaked with white. there’s a wreath of it thronged at his base, viscid and thick, leaking down his balls . . and it’s all produced from you. “u-unh, unh, g-god, fuck, ngh . .” your breaths are strained, your muscles burn, nevertheless, you don’t think you’ve never felt so good in your entire life. 

when eren sees you begin to drool, a sphere of pride swells within his chest. there it is. what he’s been wanting. you’re now fucked dumb . . plain out stupid. no longer do comprehensible spill from your swollen, plush lips . . only frail babbles and spit ridden slurs. “good girl,” he grumbles, smearing his thumb within the mess of your cheek. “good fuckin’ girl . . mhm, cream on it . . cream on your fuckin’ dick, go ahead.”

when that same slicked thumb starts to stroke your clit, your entire body tenses with the onslaught of your second orgasm of the night. meekly, almost fearfully, you sniff, “. . o-oh god, ‘m gonna cum, ‘rennie.”

eren’s eyes are brutish, firm when he demands, “do it,” through a low huff. “fuck did i jus’ say huh? . . . ’s yours, ruin it.”

you make him proud when you tearfully obey.

and god, it’s a mess.

you don’t squirt, no, it’s more of . . a stream — a warm cascade of liquid, texture akin to buttermilk as it flows over his dick and down your butt. eren feels how tight your pussy grips him as she works on letting it all run out, ripple by ripple, he feels how hard you grasp onto him, and goodness, he’s smitten by you. he’s absolutely besotted that he simply can’t help kissing you, mewling into your mouth when his own heated coil within the base of his stomach snaps as his balls flex and, with that, he gifts you a fat load of his seed — hot and runny. “oh, fuck,” he moans into the heated cavern of your opened mouth. his thighs shudder as he buries himself as deep as he can, “ooh shit . . g-good girl.”

the both of you are heaving by the time the aftershocks come and he’s careful in settling your legs back down, unfurling you from the surely uncomfortable position. you feel unworldly, mind far from your body, as you let your fingers intertwine within the spaces of eren’s as he pulls it up to his mouth to kiss each of your knuckles, one by one, prior to carefully pulling out.

his cum rushes to follow, leaking out of your now flexing pussy.

“shit.”

you hear onyankopon chuckling as he replaces where eren had been, right between your legs — completely barren from clothes as well, aside from his chain. his thumb finds the slit of skin above your clit and he pulls it upwards to make your cunt stretch and push out another glob of eren’s cum. “fuck . . that pussy’s gapin’ — was pent up, baby. i can tell.”

eyes closed, still laying beside you and fighting to catch his breath, eren laughs softly, “yo’, fuck you ‘yan.” it’s been a long time coming, he thinks. months of pining, runarounds, and hidden feelings. the high he’s riding is unable to be described by words. 

“poor mama,” onyankopon lowly drags, leaning down to peck your lips. you’re so gone, so far gone, you can only whine and reach for him. “i know, i know.”

he kisses your cheeks, your temple, your chin, forehead, soft and slow, awaiting the moment for when you sweetly hum and whisper his name, “onya.”

his voice is just as low when he asks, “you wanna rest up, baby? we can try us later—“

“no.” your voice is small though unyielding. you want him, too. “gimmie.”

alright. he will, then.

your pussy is sloppy when he smacks the tip of his cock against it — glossed over with white that smears along the surface of your thighs, too. strangely enough, onyankopon is in dire need for another taste. he can’t help swiping two of his fingers through your lips, collecting the mixture of you and eren’s love upon the pads of them before laying them on his tongue. he tastes your sweetness underneath the fresh tanginess of eren. oddly . . it balances out. 

“mmm,” he hums. 

his cock is two toned — a beautiful dark brown that fades into rosewood near halfway. similar to eren, he’s around eight and a half inches . . give or take, nine. just as his, too, it’s even all around — equal girth and length, heavy even while on brick. only difference was . . you notice the ony’s cock curves a bit . . . a bit to the left. you’re intrigued, watching him spit upon his tip, smear it in with his thumb, then breach his way inside.

it’s similar to the first time all over again. you tense . . . hard. 

both of them have to coo and pepper you with sweet kisses to get you to ease up again. “shit,” ony mutters, eyebrows furrowed as he works in the last three inches. “still tight . . how you still fuckin’ tight?”

your answer is lost somewhere within your moans. you were scared of his curve, you’ll admit, however, you find that . . it works. when ony manages to push all of himself in, he discovers that he needs to keep himself still for a moment . . all in fear of not wanting to bust a premature nut come the sensation of your flexing walls. “shit.”

you watch him lick his lips and give you a dazed sort of smile, eyes half lidded, and grill glinting underneath the silvered rays of moonlight pouring in through the opened curtains, “you feel good as a motherfucka’, mama, ‘m not gon’ lie.”

once more, your cunt constricts, “fuck me then.”

he does. 

to your surprise, he starts off slow . . rolling his hips in then out, rhythmically, almost as if there were a song only he can hear playing. you shudder with each thrust forward, eyes cycling back, hands reaching for his forearms. you watch his smirk broaden when his tempo speeds up, morphing your faint, little whimpers into hard gasps and long moans. “mmmmhm,” he mutters, taking the soles of your feet and using them to open your legs as wide as they were able. “yeah . . give me that shit.”

with a faster pace comes harder plunges. a splatter of wetness squelches out from your pussy with each drive in. “you gon’ take it?” he huffs, sliding his hands across down your calves, to your thighs. “you not gon’ run?”

“noo, ‘m not, i p-prom . . pinkie p-promise,” you keen. you’d never. you want to be good for him, too, just as you were with eren. you want to be their good girl. 

and that’s all onyankopon wants to hear.

he pulls out, and with that, falls on his back, and tugs you on top of him. “sit on it.”

reading your apprehensiveness all over your pretty face, he gives you a blinding white and gold smile, “don’t be scared, i gotchu.” your legs are trembling when you slowly swing one over his hip. dark browns focus on the bounce of your tits as you lean forward, reach behind yourself for his dick, rub it up and down your slit a few times, then carefully ease your way on down. “mmph.” you sniffle, placing your hands on the solid, tatted skin of his pectorals. he feels even bigger this way, you suppose, fat and lengthy. you force yourself to keep going, withal, to keep pushing down until his full, stout balls are pressed against the softness of your ass. 

ony moans a soft, “jus’ like that.” his hands don’t go for your hips, no, they slide up until he takes hold of the sides of your torso, more upon your ribs. “i gotchu, don’t even worry, baby girl.”

you weren’t aware that onyankopon would, quite literally, have you. he doesn’t allow you to move an inch, plainly starts to bounce you up and down atop of his cock, lifting your body as though you were the weight of a five pound dumbbell. you squeak, and you squeal, and you cry, holding on by pressing down upon his abs, letting him flat-out break in your dainty, little cunt. 

you’re aware of the picture you must paint. sweet chub of your cheeks polished with garlands of tears, fat of your ass jiggling each time it meets the hard muscle of his thighs, your tits rebounding with each pound . . . you’re something out of a porn catalogue, surely. 

and ony’s very encouraging. he hums and he groans and he hisses, calling you ‘their good girl,’ tells you that your pussy is the best he’ll ever get, demands through low murmurs that you ‘get that dick.’ you find that you crave to do it yourself — bounce, that is. your legs move, feet flattening upon the bed . . and he notices. “w-wanna,” you sniffle, voice broken as you swipe the back of your wrist across your soaked cheek. “wanna m-make you cum, daddy.”

onyankopon has to close his eyes at the simple sentence — what you don’t know is that you almost caught him then and there. he’s two seconds away from shooting triplets inside of you, he’s sure. birth control be damned. 

and you do it. you stabilize yourself with one hand on his shoulder, the other on the cheek of your ass, spreading it all in efforts because you’re curious . . you want to feel how much your pussy has to stretch to accommodate all that he gives. “s-s-sooo big,” you moan, eyes flipped white as a trickle of drool sways from the pudginess of your bottom lip, dripping down to his chest. “s-so big, papa.”

“fuck,” ony’s groaning, lip bitten over with his teeth as he looks between your bodies to find that tiny, fat cunt creaming again, leaking down his balls. “why you . . givin’ it to m-me like this, princess?”

you suddenly slam down and swirl your hips in delicious, petite circles, acquiring some much needed friction from his trimmed pubes against your clit. “ ‘c-cause . . — wan’ y-your cum,” you admit with a pout. you’re needy for it. you’ve gotten a taste and you doubt you’ll ever be the same again. 

never the one to be outdone, ony starts to raise his hips, meeting you halfway. “yeah?” he licks his lips. “you want this nut? . . you gon’ catch it?”

when he speeds up, you’re aware that he’s taken over the reigns again. your head tips back and, once again, you hold on while nodding. “uh huh,” you squeak. “hng . . unh, unggg.” god, you are absolutely filthy. ony knows that you two are plain out disgusting, but, he can’t find it within himself to actually give a fuck.

he has you — the girl of his dreams — brain dead, cockdrunk, drooling, and needy for his cum. “yeahhh,” he drags lowly, eyebrows furrowing, watching your pretty nails disappear between your thighs where you go to rub your clit, “yeah, you w-want this fuckin’ nut . . ima give it to you.” you’re working for it . . clenching and creaming, and rolling your hips. he thinks he’d be a fool to not grant your wishes.

grabbing onto your hips, he bounces you once, twice, thrice, four times before the two of you are reaching your highs in unison. your gasp is hard. you lose your balance, legs trembling too hard that somehow, you end up falling and flat upon his chest, clawing your nails into his shoulders while his fingers grasp onto your ass, forcing you to rock your hips back and forth. “r-ride it out, mama,” he hisses, “ride that shit out, fuck.” the longer, the better.

you unflex your toes when it starts to, sadly, ebb away near a minute later. how disappointing. onyankopon’s arms are wrapped around you. he holds you tight, as though he never wants to let go. your head feels fuzzy — the world is a blur when you feel yourself being picked up and moved. “mm, shit, baby,” he groans. you have his legs weak and, what was once dark, illuminates into brilliance as he carries you inside of eren’s bathroom. you hear water running and you feel ony carefully slipping himself from inside of you before you’re being transferred into someone else’s arms and lowered into a vast jacuzzi bathtub, full of warm water whose surface is clouded with foaming, glimmering bubbles. 

“mm,” you sniffle and focus your sight on ony who stands in front of the mirror, slowly removing the gold cap from his mouth. 

“careful, mama.”

eren’s behind you. carefully, he ties your braids into a big, topple of a bun, making sure they don’t get too wet, just before sinking inside the tub, too. tugging you into his chest, he isn’t at all surprised to feel your muscles liquify as you melt and tip your head back into his shoulder. you’re tired now, of course you are. “wan’ it again,” you admit through a mewl with a dazed smile after ony’s in the tub, too. “an’ again . . an’ again.”

they both chuckle. “nah, baby, you gotta rest for a little bit.”

you agree. one hundred percent. your cunt aches, thighs burn with the exertion of being folded up and all the bouncing, to add, your throat is sore, nevertheless, you suppose all is a small price to pay in order to feel as good as you did when they’re buried deep inside of you, “. . an’ then i can get it again?”

they’ll give it to you as much as you want. they’ll give you the world if it’s just enough to put another beautiful smile on your face.

  ❤︎ — all rights reserved ! © pwncez !

𖨆♡𖨆 ran haitani x fem!reader, hanma shuji x fem!reader

╰┈➤ yearning for revenge after the untimely death of your father, you come to discover an underground organization called bonten and how its executive may have all the answers you need. the big catch? you were the first ever girl that broke his heart.

: ̗̀➛ explicit smut, mentions of a murder, guns, mentions of drugs, fear play, prostitution, mention of heights, daddy kink, creampie, mild exhibitionism, pet names (princess), spit kink, murder, blood, gore, torture, joint breaking, angst, mentions of a past relationship, mentions of a body disposal, slut-shaming, language, smoking, drinking, MDNI

masterlist 🌙

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝟏

The air tonight tasted of electricity, its charge sparking in your bloodstream.

Fidgeting in your skintight dress and boots, you wondered if you were a little overdressed considering how some of the girls milled around in skirts that barely covered their asses and crop tops that were just the barest suggestion of clothes upon their frames.

The bass boosting through the floors mimicked the palpitation of your heart and you steeled yourself, looking both ways before you crossed the street.

So, this was the infamous Haitani bar that everyone from your roommate, Kira, to her pimp was talking about. You could see why it generated much intrigue.

On the outside, the facade suggested a modest office building that boasted a helipad at its very top, like a flat cap over a square head. Rumour has it that the Haitanis liked to arrive to their own bar not in cars or even limos—but through their own private helicopter which gives them discreet entrance. The top floor, especially, was a cordoned-off area where only those who had a special pass could enter.

That, or to go in disguised as one of the many prostitutes Ran and Rindou hired to keep spirits up and the booze flowing all night long.

You had to hand it to them; those Haitani brothers were exceptionally good businessmen.

Tugging the hem of your dress down, you approached the bouncer who let you through with barely a glance at your ID. You frowned inwardly; shouldn’t security here be at its maximum capacity?

After all, Ran and Rindou were two of the most important Bonten executives—a position so feared that even the most hardened pimp would shudder at the name of Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation.

Downstairs, people were packed like sardines, girls hanging off random men’s laps or dancing in groups like a shoal of fish, bait for the sharks that lurked around the rooms.

You weren’t excused from their leering stares and kept your head down, sole mission in mind. In the elevator, you called for the highest level, the numbers on the keypad blinking every time you rose one floor higher. To calm yourself for what you had to do, you reached inside your purse for the faded photograph; your father’s smile bright in the palm of your hand.

I’ll do this for you, dad, was your silent promise. The elevator dinged and you walked towards the cordoned-off bar where the crowds were nonexistent, and all that stood between you and finding Ran Haitani was one stern looking bouncer. His muscles rippled almost threateningly under his suit, staring you up and down.

“No one is allowed to enter.”

You took in a deep breath and spoke in a low, but clear voice. “Haitani-san hired me.”

The guard arched a brow. “Which Haitani?”

Somehow, it felt like a trick question and when you answered Ran, it seemed that you had failed the test.

“Mr. Haitani is not the one that deals with hookers,” he all but growled, and despite the streaks of grey in his hair and noticeable age, you sensed without a doubt that he was able to manhandle you and toss you over the balcony railing if he so wished to.

Holding your ground, you gritted your teeth and forced out: "There must be some kind of mistake. I was requested to be here.”

The guard had evidently grown tired of this back and forth; he approached you and gripped your arm tightly, pushing you towards the elevator door. “Let go of me!” Your hunch was proven right; he was incredibly strong and did not let up, not even when you dug your heels in to impede him.

“I won’t tell ya again, miss,” he growled. “Please leave before I throw you off the fucking building myself.”

“One of his clients told me to be here!" You fought back, the desperation clawing up your throat.

His scowl deepened and a vein was threatening to pop from his temple. “Last chance. You’re gonna have to leave, miss.”

You physically and literally held your ground, gripping the railing with white knuckles. “Not until I see him.”

“Miss, I won’t ask you twice—“

“What’s going on here?”

As if he had turned to jelly, the guard released you and quickly folded into a bow. “Mr. Haitani, sir—“ you didn’t hear his babbling, your mind struggling to comprehend the deepness of that voice and how it brought back a surge of memories you could not ignore.

A smug smile, long, bleached-black hair that you loved running your fingers through, nights spent raiding the closest convenience stores, an empty phone log…

“… Ran?”

A beat of silence as he took in your face before the recognition set in.

“Y/N?”

He was different—no scratch that, he didn’t even look like his old self. Gone were the twin braids and dip-dyed bleached hair. Now, he sported a full hair of light purple locks that contrasted vividly with the frown that was etched on his face and the tattoo peeking underneath the collar of an expensive suit.

Before you could open your mouth, he reached out and gripped your shoulder, steering you towards the bar’s entrance.

“She’s with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Haitani-san, I—“ the guard’s splutters were not to be heard; Ran waved him off and trailed those hardened lilac eyes onto you. The press of his palm was warm on your bare skin.

“Didn't anyone warn you that this his bar isn’t a place for girls like you?”

You were surprised to say the least. It seemed as if those five years that you spent separated from him dissolved into nothing; he still spoke to you in that same infuriating manner like you hadn’t ghosted him out of the blue—like you hadn’t broken his heart.

“Girls like me?” For your credit, you were still as argumentative as ever. As his hard gaze bore into yours, you realised some things never changed.

Ran Haitani would always treat you like you were an errant child.

“My men are armed to the teeth and you could have walked out of here with more than a bruise,” was his retort. Your indignant anger faded a little when you eyed the tasteful bar decorations. It seemed like a different world existed up here compared to the crowded dance floor below. There was no thumping music, no drugs and no sharks waiting for you to let your guard down. Rather, bossa nova jazz music filtered over the speakers; even the people here were classier than you anticipated—all suits and dresses that tastefully showed off skin.

You stuck out like a sore thumb in your black bodycon and boots, and it appears you were not the only person who was aware of it. The women eyed you up and down, though the men were more discreet. But the one thing they all had in common? The moment it registered that Ran Haitani was beside you, all their gazes fell to the floor.

He led you to the outside bar where a few people mingled around, smoking cigars and joking amongst themselves in low tones. Ran chose a table closest to the balustrades. Immediately, two well-dressed waiters arrived to wipe down the table, set down some snacks as well as a bottle of whiskey—glowing almost amber in the half-light.

That bottle alone look like it could’ve cost more than your rent.

You sat down opposite him and watched as he removed a packet of cigarettes and a metal lighter. The click of it was loud in the silence and you didn’t know what compelled you to blurt out your next sentence, but it came out without a second thought, and you had to suffer the repercussions of his disbelief.

“Your guard didn't believe me when I told him I was a prostitute."

Those impassive lilac hues flickered onto you. “What?”

As if explaining yourself to a child, you spelled it out for him. “I’m a hooker, Ran.”

For a long moment, he did not speak. He reached forward to uncap the whiskey bottle, poured himself a cup and sat back in the plush chair. There was nothing on his face that indicated any real emotion he had towards his ex-girlfriend being in an unsavoury position, nor did he make fun of you for your new occupation. All he did was frown and said: “How’d that happen? You always said you wanted to go to business school and you’re pulling this type of shit?”

Something about the way he phrased that sentence made it feel like a slap to your face. “You don’t have to sound like my dad, Haitani.”

If there was one strange power you had over the feared Haitani brother, it would be the ability to make his blood boil with just a few words. "Huh? Do you need money? Is there someone pimping you out? What’s his name?”

You hadn’t expected him to launch into his righteous anger on your behalf, and you sat back, wide-eyed.

For Ran, he was in disbelief over how you had turned out in the five short years he lost contact with you. He had always admired your vision of climbing the corporate ladder and how you had mapped out the future together with him even knowing full well the dark path he had taken to build Bonten from the ground up together with his younger brother and a few other chosen men.

But, that was when you both were still fresh-faced twenty year olds and a novice to the hardships of life. In those years when you left him, he had climbed the ranks and claimed many, many lives to do so. His blood ran dirty with all the futures he had destroyed and you…

How did you end up like this?

You were always such a sweet thing; concern for others outweighing your need for self-preservation. A girl like you did not belong on the streets and the both of you knew it.

“I work for myself, Ran,” you clarified and he had to stop himself from shivering at how his name sounded on your lips. “I choose who I work with, when and how much I charge them.”

He was still at a loss, and the glass of whiskey he had ached for the whole evening seemed like contaminated water in this instance. Ran pushed it back and raised one perfectly groomed brow.

“Why?”

You fiddled with your fingers and stared out towards the scenery. If Ran had to choose one spot he could easily lose himself in, it would be this place. Rindou’s strategic choice of a bar faced the Tokyo skyline; from his perch, he could map out the outline of the Tokyo Exchange Building, a stout cube in the heart of the city. He could trace the rail lines, the jagged edges of the district of Roppongi where he and Rindou once reigned supreme.

“I… lost my dad,” you confessed. Similarly, he found himself at a loss too for what to say, his expression carefully construed to remain neutral. “He died shortly before we broke up. I… I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know how to say it.”

The young executive tipped his whiskey around the glass and took a drag of his cig, unable to look you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he eventually said and followed up with another question which you could not easily answer.

“Is that why you dumped me?”

After five years of wondering, five years of searching out for answers and wracking his brain for something he might have done to piss you off, Ran was finally graced with the faltering of your expression.

He recalled stepping out of the elevator aching for a drink only to be confronted by the sight of someone who held the shape of you, a shape he could always easily map out even in the darkness. His heart had soared, but he tamed down the excitement, reasoning that of course it could not be you; he had done everything in his power to seek you out in those 1825 days he spent without you, where it seemed like you had dropped off the face of the earth.

Little did he know how the past could show up unannounced when one stopped searching for it. He still was not done trying to flay it apart and find out the truth.

“No, wait, scratch that,” his voice was rising in anger. “Is that why you ghosted me and blocked me on everything so I couldn’t reach out to you?”

You had always known Ran Haitani to wear his signature smirk; no matter if he was beating people up, stealing food from convenience stores or even bashing up boys taller than him with his baton; that same infuriating smile never faltered.

Until now.

Only you boasted the power to make the ever smug Ran Haitani drop his impassive facade to reveal a deep scowl. The words you practiced to explain to him all that had transpired in the past five years today seemed to elude you.

You could not reply to his interrogative questions and Ran sighed, cutting to the heart of things. “Why are you here?”

You bristled at his tone and glared towards the city view, involuntarily annoying him with your shifty reply and inability to tell him the truth.

“To enjoy the night sky.”

“No, fuck,” he gritted out and you held your breath. “Why are you really here, Y/N?”

A tremble of uncertainty passed between the both of you.

Fuck it. I'll just ask to see what his reaction is.

“I need a favour.”

Silence descended between both your tense forms. You had no idea what he was thinking or what his sudden loss of words entailed. All you sensed was that it didn’t bring you any good news.

But inwardly, you understood the gravity of what you were doing.

Picture this: you had a woman you swore to protect, to stay true to her because you both were madly in love with each other and one day, seemingly for no reason, she disappears and doesn’t pick up her phone or even answer her messages. What would you have done?

You knew, in the deepest pits of your conscience, that you were shameless; that you were nothing but a cold-hearted and calculating bitch for badgering a wounded man from your past for help when it was all your fault you turned out this way.

“A favour, eh?” He put out his cigarette and stared at you unblinkingly. “I'll give you a chance to ask it when you answer me this: How did a nice girl like you end up working the streets?"

You frowned at the accusatory tone he wore and glanced back down at your twined hands. “I…”

Your ex-boyfriend’s words were cutting you right down to the bone and you fought back the urge to cry. If it had been five long years Ran spent searching for a woman who had already lost herself, so what did he expect to find?

That you were the same girl who used to sing oldies in the middle of your shared kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt? Or, that you could coo over his wounds and patch them up, scolding him lightly to prioritise his safety?

No. That Y/N died the day you found your father in a pool of his own blood.

“I changed, Haitani.”

It seemed that Ran did not believe you. “Sure you did.”

Finally, you divulged the piece that was lingering in your mind, the final one that would give a full picture of the puzzle as to what happened in all those years you cut off contact with him.

“You would, too, if your father was murdered.”

A stifling quiet. “Huh?” Ran’s lilac eyes were piercing and all but shining with grim curiosity. “What happened?”

This was it. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle you kept hidden from him; the pièce de résistance of how you ended up from being a good, hardworking girl to a scummy bedwarmer.

“I came back home one day after class and… our house had been broken into. H-he was in the kitchen—“ you spared the gory details and he did not press you for it. Instead, Ran lit one cigarette and passed it to you. You accepted it and breathed in the nicotine like it was fresh air, hoping that it would clear your mind.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly and followed your gaze towards Tokyo unfurling before your feet. You did not accept his apology, tears glimmering in your eyes from the unsuspecting pain still lingering in your soul. How you still were not over your father's death despite the years that had passed you by.

“But what I don’t get is why didn’t you tell me?”

If you could compare Ran’s anger to a flame, it would be a slow flickering light over a vat of gasoline. Sure, he was the most trigger happy brother, but he did it out of the genuine thrill of taking down his enemies—because certainty of what was black and white was always his constant companion. And in this instance, Ran did not know who was a friend or who was a foe.

“You fucking disappeared into thin air, Y/N.” A heavy disquiet fell over the both of you. “I searched for you, y’know? Thinking that it was a mistake; that you didn’t mean to leave. I wanted answers but the more I searched and dug up shit I realised something… maybe some answers just don’t want to be found.”

You took another drag of the cigarette, trying to keep the tremble out from your tone and hide your wet eyes by keeping your gaze off him. “I didn’t do it out of spite, Ran.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

That lachrymose needing to burst out into tears would not survive the truth. “I can’t answer that for now.”

Ran’s grip tightened around his glass. “So you think you can waltz in here, demanding to see me and I would give you everything you need? Stop the whole world for you again like how I used to?”

Anger flared through your chest, hot and insistent.

“Fuck—I’m not asking you to save me, Haitani! I’m just… I just wanna know…” your voice fell into a whisper and so did your hope. “I just wanna know who killed my dad and why... why’d they have to do it.”

You would have thought he would be more sympathetic, and not say, “He wasn’t a good man, Y/N. I know this because if he was, he wouldn’t have gone out that way.”

Part of you couldn’t believe he had said that, but this was Ran Haitani you were talking about; a man of rationalism and bruteness. His occupational hazard was leaving men like your poor father in that state. You pressed on.

“That’s why I needed to see you. To ask if you knew something.”

Those usual sleepy lilac eyes turned hardy like stone. “No.”

You could barely believe he was doing this, the anger coating the back of your throat. The city’s lights wavered in your periphery from your tears of desperation.

“W-what? What do you mean 'no'?”

He stood up, and people were glancing at the both of you; the crestfallen look on your face and the disproving one on his indicative of an argument. If you were in the right frame of mind, your cheeks would've warmed from how the both of you were causing a scene.

“I don’t know anything. Sorry. Can’t help you.”

Before you could hammer in your plea, he took his jacket off the chair and slung it over his arm, unable to even look at you.

“Wait—please!”

You stood up and rushed to his side, gripping his sleeve. A few women gasped at your audacity. It appeared you were gathering an even bigger audience from your stupid stunt—even the waiters carrying drinks and food paused in their tracks.

Ran ignored each of them and coolly glanced down at you with those infuriatingly beautiful eyes. He tugged his arm away and sneered down at your betrayed expression.

“Y/N, this isn’t something you want to get into.”

You grasped onto that little glimmer of truth he had unwillingly divulged, the wobble in your lower lip unmistakable.

“So, you do know something. You know who could have done this.”

Apparently, he registered his slip-up and he turned his face to glare at the ground, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips. “I told you. I’m clueless.”

“Stop fucking treating me like a child, Ran!” Your outburst caught even you off guard and the air suddenly became stifling, despite the open sky staring down at your fury.

“You’ve always been like this! Y/N don’t do this or Y/N stop that like I’m some kind of—helpless child. I’m not, Haitani. I’ve seen shit." You were beyond desperate, trying to convince him to tell you the truth by giving up parts of your gory life for him to review.

"I’ve seen a man get shot where he stood, police dragging out mutilated bodies of the girls I work with from dumpsters—so many fucked up things. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t even know the truth when I... when I became like this just to find it!”

He did not entertain your callous words, lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry." At least he gave you the courtesy of a final apology before turning around to walk away.

“Haitani—“

You ran after him and gripped his arm, refusing to let him go.

In your mind, the images of your father's mangled body flashed, exacerbating your exasperation.

“Fuck!” he snarled, wrenching his arm away and staring down at you with such a virulent expression, you were almost scared if you didn't know that Ran Haitani was physically incapable of hurting you. “I’ll say this one last time, Y/N—drop this now before it’s too late.” The tension swirled around both your taut figures, taunting you with the urge to lean in and bridge the gap.

Unadulterated stubbornness clashed with the sudden gleam in his eye. You were close enough to smell the whiskey and nicotine on his breath.

Your baser instincts took over, your body trying to convince him in a way your words could not.

“Y/N—mmph.”

Your lips collided with his, hands clawed to the front of his shirt, pulling him in deeper. It wasn’t a seduction as it was a last desperate pitch to get him to listen—and the only way Ran would ever listen to you was when he was quiet. He drew you closer, one hand around your neck and the other on the small of your back. The air in the bar got thicker and you wrapped your arms around his neck, drinking the familiarity of his solid body pressed to yours. He pulled back slightly, lips swollen and shook his head, a lazy and exasperated smirk worming its way across those delectable lips.

“You’re so infuriating.” As he spoke, he found your zipper, dragging it down and you squeaked, darting your eyes towards the group of spectators who were all but gawking. Ran was brazen, but he wouldn’t be as bold to fuck you in front of a bunch of people… right?

Ran followed your line of sight and clicked his tongue, understanding your silent mortification.

“Fuck off! The bar’s closed!” he called over the easy music. As if he were a king decreeing his rigid word, the bouncers ushered the patrons away from the balcony, the lights dimmed low and even the employees were forced to leave the premises. The head guard bowed to him, closing the doors with a resolute click. Just from his bidding alone, the both of you were left alone.

Suddenly, all your bravery had dried up and you glanced down at his broad chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“Not so bold now, huh, princess?” he drawled and like a cat toying with a mouse, he cornered you against the balustrade with both arms caged around your body.

It was too quiet, the air too thick with electricity. You swallowed hard and looked up into those eyes you had found solace in so many times before your world was turned on its head. There was no denying it—you missed him with every fiber of your body and the beat of lust that had ignited from his lips on yours roared into a fire that threatened to incinerate the rest of your self-control.

“We’re alone now,” he murmured, running his nose down your neck, inhaling your light scent. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No,” the quake in your voice seemed like you were lying.

“You know I don’t like liars, Y/N,” he said, voice gravelly and deep, causing shivers to run down your spine. He was far too close, his indulgent scent of coffee, musk and tobacco was seeping into your every pore; you could not stop yourself from pitching forward and pressing your face to his neck to hide the wobble in your lower lip.

Ran sighed and irritably flicked his jacket onto the floor, the material making a heavy thud sound.

The press of his warm palms on the small of your back deteriorated the last of your hesitation.

“Ran…” you licked your dry lips, finding a shred of courage to look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Want it.”

“Want what?” His purring deep tone made your knees weak. If it weren’t for the cool stone and his arms around you, you would’ve melted onto the ground to join his pristine jacket.

Lower lip trembling and thighs clenching, you whispered, “I want you.”

Ran’s reaction was instantaneous. He picked you up by your thighs and placed you onto the balustrade where a ten-floor drop yawned below you. Squeaking in fear, you involuntarily wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest again.

“Ran—!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he moaned, kissing down your neck. “Ain’t gonna drop you.”

Those hot stamps in the shape of his lips were messing with your resolve and you groaned, head was thrown back, only the steel ropes of his arms and your thighs tensing around his waist anchoring you to safety. If you were a ship besieged in the middle of the storm, Ran was the roiling sea under you, ready to suck you into his depths.

“Someone can see us,” you hissed, knowing full well that if any passersby looked up, they would catch sight of two lovers on the balcony. He hummed, shaking his head with that shit-eating grin still etched across his lips.

“Baby, Rin and I own this bar. They ain’t seeing anything. ‘Sides, if they open their mouths, they won’t live to tell the tale.”

The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your eyes and you squeezed them closed, tilting your head back once he reached the valley of your breasts. Growling like a lion who had been held too long in captivity, he tugged the stretchy fabric down, exposing the lacy bra you wore to his heated stare.

“Shit,” he swore and planted more of those pussy-clenching kisses down the length of your throat.

“Ran,” you mewled, the heel of your boots digging into his lower back. Lost in his touch, you almost didn’t feel him tip you back, and you screamed once you felt the near loss of gravity, wildly scrambling to bury your white-knuckled grip in the back of his vest and hair.

“Ran!”

He secured his arms tighter around your waist, chuckling lowly into your ear. “Look at you—such a filthy little slut who wants my cock so badly she doesn’t care if she’ll fall.”

Rather than cowering in fear, his words served to heighten your arousal and you humped your drooling core across his cloth-covered bulge, trying your best to get as much friction as you could onto your aching pussy. “Oh, please,” you whimpered, pawing at his tie, removing it swiftly and throwing it down onto the cobblestone floor. Panting lightly, you managed to mutter, “N-need this.”

You hastily unbuttoned his vest to expose the crisp white dress-shirt he wore, making quick work of the first three buttons. Your mouth chartered a path from his chin to his neck, sloppily working in kisses mingled with frantic sucks of his skin, leaving reddened spots close to his gang tattoo. Trembling fingers touched the design, remembering the first day he came back home to eagerly show you the press of ink in his skin. 

We’re gonna be rich, baby.

The both of you had seemed so young back then and a part of you ached for an innocence that was gone too soon.

His low groans resonated in your ear and you squeaked again when he used one arm to hold you fast to his chest while the other wormed its way under the hem of your dress, feeling for your panties. Catching two nimble fingers on the seat of the flimsy material, you felt him twist it and before you could stop him—

Riiiip.

As if your panties were nothing more than a sugar in hot water, they disintegrated into lacy tatters on the floor.

“Those were my favourite pair,” you moaned when he returned the favour and bit down on the delicate skin behind your ear.

“Fuck—will get you new ones,” he breathed heavily, tongue tracing the shell of your sensitive lobe. “I'll get you a whole wardrobe of lacy, naughty things. You want that?”

You murmured something that sounded like yes Daddy and he grinned, already loving how easily you slipped into your submissiveness. If there was one thing Ran loved more than anything in the world, it would be to bend you over anywhere he wished—over his knee, the head of the couch, even pressing you onto the hood of his car—and take you then and there. You were always such a pliant, sweet, little thing for him, and it made his blood boil to think of how much you had denied him in these past five years.

Rough hands tugged down the cups of your lacy bra, palming the plush flesh of your breasts. “Missed these fucking tits,” he muttered lewdly and before you could chastise him, he bent his head forward, almost tilting you at a dangerous angle just to latch his mouth onto your nipple. Your heart was beating wildly, your hair flowing freely in the wind. Every stroke of his tongue on your tender buds made you moan wantonly, and all you could do was stare at that angelic face and sinful mouth working one turgid nub and then another with that maddening tongue, your nipples soon shiny with spit.

In the half-dark, the sharp points were silhouetted against the city lights obscenely. A soft hum indicated he was pleased with his handy work.

He tugged you closer to his chest and attacked your mouth, numbing your complaints with those maddening kisses. Ran held your bottom lip open with that same hand that ripped your panties and a globe of spit left his mouth and dripped onto your waiting tongue. The instruction was implicit: Swallow. You did, an obedient plaything to his wills.

“Bet you liked that, don’t you, you little slut?” he crooned and your cheeks flushed, your hand moving down to cup the front of his slacks.

“Stop teasing,” you huffed and he grinned widely.

His free hand wandered down your thigh, finding your bare pussy, gently rubbing your already soaked lips.

“Ran—!”

He sensed your hesitance to accept his ministrations when your body tensed and he pressed his forehead to yours, lilac locks tickling the bridge of your nose.

“Give in fully to me, baby.”

You didn’t answer him, on a high from how he was tracing your folds, the gentle way he dipped his index finger teasingly into your clenching hole.

“Mm, your pussy seems to want this,” in a firm but silky tone, “I know you want this.”

You did not have to answer him; your arched back and the ripple of your walls around his intrusive finger more than gave him enough of an answer. “Gonna make up for not fucking you in those five years.”

You were close to a delirious fever pitch, needing him to finally fuck you. “Ran, more—please.”

“Already begging?” He slipped another finger in, instantly finding your sweet spot and pressing down on it. Hard. “Hmm, so eager.”

You jolted as if you were touched by a live wire. “Want you!” In a softer, supplicant tone you whined, “Need you—please.”

Ran could not say no, especially when you begged so nicely. He unbuttoned his slacks and slipped his hard length out, the familiar curve, veins and head making you almost salivate with joy. In one swift thrust, he sheathed himself into your heat, the both of you moaning with relief.

He swore that you looked like a fallen angel in that moment; your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, bare tits that jiggle with every slam of his pelvis into yours, getting him to almost believe in God.

Almost.

Your eyes were closed, head lolling back and he sensed that if he let you go and you fell to your demise, you would probably die with a satisfied grin on your face. But, of course, he wouldn’t do it—Ran Haitani would be a fool to let his favorite plaything go.

“My cock got you drunk, baby?” That low, rasping voice gave you goosebumps and all you could do was mewl, hands tangling with his lilac locks, your desperate gaze pinning him to the spot with begrudging awe. Years of knowing every dip, divot and curve on your body made him keenly aware of the cues you would give off—his most favorite green light in the world, one that signaled you were close to a release.

“You gonna cum for me like this?” One hand found your clit, strumming it in time with his clean thrusts. “Gonna cream all over my cock in front of the whole city?”

“M’gonna—“ Cut off by a choking moan, all you could do was squeeze your eyes tight, only able to take this ride of your life.

The sloppy meeting of his cock in your silken walls mingled with both your harsh breathing and Ran felt that telltale stir in his balls that he was going to fucking blow his load and all you could do was take it. He didn’t care if you weren’t on birth control or if this was what you did with the filthy men that you picked up on the streets; in this instance, your pussy was his, and he would show that pretty little cunt that he alone was her master.

“Yeah? Do it.” He goaded as his thumb rubbed frantic circles on your engorged and sensitive nub. “Fucking cum for me, princess.”

You jerked in his grip like a puppet strung too tightly and lost all restraint and shame, tossing your head back with a scream of his name, the sight so fucking magnificent in the haze of the flickering lights behind you that Ran thought himself to be in love again.

Every muscle in your body seized and his most favorite ones—the walls of your pussy—practically milked him dry. Ran was not even the least bit disgruntled that he was panting like a bitch in heat, fucking the last of his cum deep into your cervix.

The both of you took a second to just breathe.

Thank fuck for the open air—the smell of sex was sure to permeate every pore of his body, just like that tantalising vanilla perfume you wore.

Ran was gentle when he brought you back to your feet, toeing the scraps of what used to be your panties into a corner. Memories of how clingy you could be after every round of sex burned through his mind and he halfway expected you to cling onto him like a sleepy koala. That assumption was dashed when you stepped away from him, tucking your tits back into your bra and lifting the straps back in place.

Despite his silent disappointment, he helped you straighten the hem of your dress and you reached out to button back his vest; a team effort at getting decent once more.

Ran sat back down onto the plush chair, and this time, you sank into his lap, uncapping the bottle of whiskey and pouring a fresh glass.

You passed him the amber liquid and he took it from you with a nod.

“You alright?”

Sheepishly, you picked up his cigarettes and lighter, taking a moment to spark the flame before touching it to the butt of your white stick, the dancing flicker imprinted in the back of his eyelids whenever he blinked.

“Yeah.”

He drank and you smoked. Ran didn’t care that his seed was seeping out and staining his slacks, nor did he care that a bit of your ash fell onto his leg. He merely brushed it aside, wishing he had the courage to mimic that same motion with a stray piece of hair kissing your forehead.

“Usually I’d charge you a hundred an hour, y’know.”

Humour. You always used a joke to deflect the seriousness of a situation.

“Tell me about your life on the streets.” It wasn’t a request, and you could hear the steel under his soft tone, this one attempt to fill in the blanks of your new life something he found himself immensely curious on.

“It’s good money,” you sighed, and took another drag, the smoke unfurling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I live just by Roppongi with another hooker. She was the one who made this lifestyle sound so glamorous.”

In a softer tone, you held a faraway look in your gaze that was trailing across the city line. “The first time I did it, I sobbed like a baby afterwards. Felt dirty. But, you eventually get used to it—the leers, the pawing. I always made them wear rubber, though, so you don’t have to worry.”

He tightened his grip on the glass and swallowed down his disapproval with another mouthful of liquor. This is not you, Y/N.

You gave him a small smile and Ran bit back the urge to taste the nicotine off your tongue. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever let raw me in a long time. Well technically, you’re still the first guy.”

He tried not to let his surprise show, preferring to huff a silent laugh. A memory of you, five years younger, head on his chest and a sleepy confession passing your lips, flashed through his mind. I know this is my first time and all… but holy shit—you blew my brains out, Haitani.

Ran sat down the glass and wrapped his arms around you, perching his pointed chin on your shoulder. “I usually don’t help hookers… but I’ll make an exception for ya.”

You stubbed out the cig onto the stone wall, dusting the ash from your fingers. “Don’t pull my leg.”

Stubborn bitch.

“Nah. I’m serious,” he said, grin growing wider at the surprise settling onto your features. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He nudged you off his lap and picked up his jacket, shaking the dirt off from the expensive material. From his pocket, he procured a stiff card. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything.”

You turned the square in your fingers like it was a rare diamond you were studying, eyes shining. He was about to leave you alone with your thoughts when a soft call of his name punctured through the night like the clicking of a gun.

“Ran?”

The tall, Bonten executive swiveled back to face you, and he almost wished he didn’t. If he thought you were gorgeous in the throes in your orgasm, it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him now.

Swallowing back against the panic rising in his chest, he fixed you with a neutral gaze. “Hmm?”

Your answering smile was almost tender. “Thank you.”

He swore his heart skipped a beat.

And in that instance, a single, shred of doubt blossomed in his mind as he mulled over on the thought that if helping you was the right thing to do.

“Alright, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The stench of blood was thick in his nose, but Ran never took his eyes off the rivulets of red streaming into the man’s mouth. They had found him by the wharf and kidnapped him at gunpoint, bringing him down to Sanzu’s secret hideout to keep wandering eyes and ears from telling on them to Mikey. They were already in the midst of evading a drug bust and the leader of Bonten did not need this side quest to clutter his already burdened plate.

Ran had sworn them all to secrecy and here they were; Sanzu probably somewhere getting high off his fucking mind and Rindou beside him, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up and cracking his knuckles for another round.

“Wait, no—argh!”

Like breaking a biscuit in half, Rindou dislocated the man’s other finger joint, his other four twitching helplessly in abject agony. If there was one person he could trust to torture someone without spilling blood, it would his younger brother. The man spat out a globe of red and whimpered.

Well… maybe a tiny bit of blood had to be involved.

Ran’s voice was low and grim. “Answer, now. Name, location, or description.”

“I can’t tell you,” the bald-headed man gasped and flinched when Rindou bore down on him again. “Please! He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

The younger but no less feared Haitani brother wrapped two fingers around the underling's thumb. “Say, do you know what happens when you break someone’s thumb? Unlike the index or middle finger, it doesn’t heal. You know that? The ligament here—” he pressed the soft skin between the man’s index and thumb hard, his choked screams echoing across the decrepit walls. “—is all but paralysed if someone’s thumb snaps.”

Rindou shrugged and Ran had to bite back a laugh at how terrified the man looked. “Gonna be hard to explain to your boss how you can’t even shoot a Glock if you got no thumbs, huh? What are they gonna do to you—make you hold their cigarettes instead with your wrists? Kinda pathetic if you ask me.”

“No, please—”

“Last chance,” Rindou intoned in his usual bored fashion. “Name, location or description.”

The man threw his head back, his bound hands twitching, his thumb ransomed in Rindou’s unyielding grip. Eventually, he decided that the fate of his ligaments must’ve been more important; if this asshole was on his team, Ran would have shot him between the eyes with no hesitation at how easily he gave up his leader’s name.

“Kisaki Tetta.”

Fuck!

The two brothers shared a glance. You wanna do this? Rindou asked silently through a raised brow. Ran shrugged, as if to say, looks like we gotta do it, man.

Before the man could exhale in relief that his thumb was safe, Ran whipped out his gun and shot him point blank in the head. Warm flecks of blood and brain like the bursting of an overripe fruit splattered across his and Rindou’s faces. The shot echoed across the walls, the shell clattering onto the ground. The smell of smoke and blood hung in the air and Ran grunted, striding angrily towards the entrance of the warehouse, fumbling for his lighter.

“You really wanna do this?” Rindou easily caught up with his older brother, strings of blood caught in his purple mullet. He looked in a desperate need of a shower.

“I promised her, Rin.”

The younger Haitani resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Behind him, he heard Sanzu’s maniacal laughter and no doubt his superior would make sure that still-warm body would find its way down into the depths of the river; that man’s name, history and legacy wiped away together with the current. Despite his position, Bonten’s number two found extreme pleasure in cleaning up after the goriest of scenes and who was Ran to deny him his fun?

“Yeah, but she dumped you last time. You passed that?”

Ran leaned against his McLaren, a twin model of Rindou’s car but in jet black rather than muted silver. “You said it yourself—it’s all in the past.”

Rindou stole a white stick from his brother and stuck it between his teeth, grunting. “I really hope you know what you’re getting into. Kisaki’s gonna be a bitch to get through.”

Ran inhaled the curls of smoke in a rendition of a sigh. “It’s not impossible.”

“All for her, huh?”

The older Haitani narrowed his eyes and Rindou sensed when to back off. The story of his brother and his ex-girlfriend was one that he didn't have the full facts to. All he knew was that you upped and left one day and never reached out to Ran again.

Rindou snorted inwardly. As much as it hurt Ran’s ego to be left before he could do the leaving, he could see how his brother was clearly still in love with you.

Poor bastard.

“No. Her dad was a good man. I don’t know what shit he got himself in with Kisaki of all people but it wouldn’t hurt to find out more.”

Rindou stared off into the harbor, inhaling his next drag deeply. “Why?”

He had expected Ran to snort or brush him off when any mention of emotion was brought into the ring. Not to look at him with burning eyes and a hopeless sneer.

“The look on her face, man. It was like… like she didn’t have a will to live anymore. Not until she was telling me about him. Fuck, I mean… I gotta at least try.”

As much as Rindou was itching to knock some sense back into his brother, he thought about you and how you were like a rock to him all those years ago.

Once upon a time, Rindou was pretty sure that Ran was going to marry you; Bonten was a second priority to him, the first being the only woman the older Haitani had ever loved. The day you left was the day the last shred of Ran's humanity died.

After that, his brother was never the same again.

“Fuck—fine. But only because I’m actually related to you. If it was anyone else I would’ve left your ass out in the cold.”

A shadow of that lovesick grin that had been missing these past five years tugged on the corners of his lips, eliciting a sudden surge of nostalgia in the younger Haitani's chest.

“Thanks, Rin.”

Rindou rolled his eyes and stamped out his cigarette with the tip of his shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”

“So, you’re the flavour of the month.”

You turned towards the unexpected, smug voice and found a young woman with red-painted lips sneering at you.

The same bossa nova music tinkled in the background and you tightened your denim jacket around your shoulders to ward off the frostiness of her forced smile.

“Excuse me?”

“Ran Haitani—you’re trying to land him.”

That glint in her eye was familiar. This woman was jealous and rather than lashing out at your ex-boyfriend, she was egging you on. Must’ve been an ex-fling, by the looks of it. You snorted inwardly. Unlucky bitch.

“No, I’m not trying to land him at all,” you retorted mildly and resisted the urge to flip her off. “I’m just using him for sex.”

A low chuckle broke through the tension and your eyes widened at another face from your past. Sleepy lilac eyes, a languid smile and a shaggy mullet the same hue as his brother’s locks. Rindou Haitani stood before you right in the flesh.

“Damn. Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Y/N.”

You threw one last glare at that woman who had scampered away the moment a Haitani was nearby and rolled your eyes. A playful smile teased your lips; you always had a good relationship with Rindou, and though he was a year younger than you, he didn’t find the need for formalities and you admired him for that.

After all, keeping up pretenses could be exhausting.

“Nice to meet you again, Rin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off your grin with a lazy one of his own. “Cmon, Ran’s up at the deck. Heard things got a little… heated there.” He let you hit his shoulder just like old times and you chuckled at his audacity. Like older brother, like younger brother.

“Shut up, Haitani.”

He wrapped an arm around you in a familial way. “Grumpy ass bitch.”

Rindou dropped his arm the moment Ran came into view. The deck was once more empty, the patrons forbidden from entering this space now that the two owners were here and wanted their privacy.

Ran’s lilac eyes roamed across your features and he shot you a grin. “Hey. We got the info you’re searching for.”

Your heart sped up and you sank down on the plush chair where Rindou had gathered, hands laced over your lap. “You did?” Ran nodded and sat next to you, the heat of his body radiating comfort despite the tension, and if Rindou’s eyes were not on the both of you, you would have laid your head on his shoulder, if not just to feel its broad strength underneath your cheek.

“Kisaki was the one who ordered your father’s death.”

That name was unfamiliar to you; none of the other girls you worked with who serviced gang members had ever mentioned a Kisaki. Ran sensed your palpable confusion. “He runs a new organisation—Valhalla 2.0. It used to be one of the top delinquent groups years ago, together with Toman. He’s been trying to revive it back to its glory days.”

Your silence perturbed both brothers though they did not show it. They’ve both been trained for the longest of time in the art of observation to determine someone’s next move and from the look on your face, it seemed that you were steeling yourself for a hard decision. However, they didn't expect what you would say next.

“I guess I’ll have to infiltrate it.”

“It won’t be easy,” Rindou said after a moment of silence, leaning back against the chair, an edge in his dark gaze.

“You’ll have to be trained,” Ran supplied.

Another twist of your hands. “I never thought it would be. But I’ll do it—for him.” Rindou must’ve known who you were referring to, most likely hearing it from Ran, as he did not ask any further questions.

Ran was more cautious of the two brothers. “You’re gonna do this on your own?”

“I have to,” you bowed your head towards both brothers so they couldn’t see the tears coruscating in your eyes. “Thank you for your help. I am indebted to you both.” Sensing that your short time together with them was up, you stood up and meant to walk away. This was all the help you would ask from them—you couldn’t expect anything more.

Any bit of intelligence in the underground world that all three of you belonged to came with a harsh price, and you had no doubt as to how the brothers had to dirty their hands to get you this information. The last thing you wanted was to overstep on their kindness.

“Wait.”

You paused.

It was Ran who asked, “How’d you like a spot in Bonten?”

Heart in your throat, you almost thought you were hallucinating from the heights and the smoke. “Bonten?” you repeated slowly.

Ran nodded, flashing you a small smile, one that reminded you of the same sheepish grin he wore whenever he bought you your favourite flowers. “We’ll train you up, get you an entry point and then you’ll strike. Sounds fair?”

This was more than fair; Ran was literally handing you your revenge on a silver platter and you would be a fool to deny this offer.

“Deal.”

Later when you had gone back to Roppongi and it was just the two brothers and their closing bar, Rindou broached the topic with him. “So, you’re just gonna Rescue Armour your little girlfriend like Pepper Potts so she can do your dirty work?”

Ran tore his eyes away from the skyline and snorted.

“She’s not my girlfriend. And second of all, who still watches Marvel movies?”

Rindou sensed it would be useless to fight with his brother once his mind was made up and he only hoped that Mikey would turn a blind eye to this. 

Who knows? Perhaps once you infiltrated Valhalla and brought Kisaki down to the dirt where he belonged, Mikey might give them both a big enough raise to open another bar; this time one in the heart of the district they grew up in.

“Apparently not losers like you.”

Ran snorted and touched his suit pocket where his trusty baton was, much to his younger brother’s annoyance. “How’d you like the taste of steel on your ass, Rin?”

“Ew. Save that kinky shit for your girl, man.”

“She’s not my girl.” Another weak denial. Fuck, Ran was getting shittier at lying day by day; Sanzu would be disappointed in him.

“And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

“Fuck off.”

Yup. His brother was completely and utterly whipped for you. Rindou reached out to flick Ran’s forehead, a smirk replacing his usual languid smile.

“Simp.”

a/n. feedback and comments are appreciated. even though this is a reuploaded fic lmao

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

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(SMUT/NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭.: Joo Jaekyung x f! reader - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 , 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: "𝐒𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗…

...Don't you think that's strange?"

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 / 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark content ahead!, explicit content, dubcon, graphic content, dom/sub dynamics, power dynamics, HEAVY degradation, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, anal sex (hardcore anal btw), multiple rounds, Jaekyung putting it in every hole you have, creampie (anal), insults /nicknames (Doc, slut, whore, etc...)

𝐰.𝐜: 1,2k.

'I see you've made up your mind, doc...'

The husky voice came from behind your shoulder.

'...If that's the case, then hurry and strip to your underwear. Haven't got the whole night for this.'

He wanted to get it over with and frankly so did you. If you could skip to the moment he plows into you like a beast in heat you would. Your self-restraint slipped through your fingertips as you pulled your shirt over your head. As it did for seeing him undress and toss his luxurious bathrobe with no care. He pulled his boxers just low enough for his shaft to bounce free and towered over you with his erection in your face.

'suck.' He shamelessly pressed it against your lips, raven eyes locked with yours. And so you obeyed, taking him straight into your throat.

'See my size, hmm? oughtta get that throat nice and ready, miss doc.'

His girth stretched the corners of your mouth as soon as he pushed it in. The calloused hand grabbed your head and pulled it into his shaved pubes. You could feel his veins pulsing against your throat as his skilled fingers tugged on your locks.

Your chest instantly swelled at the lack of air, hearing him growl the deepest 'Mhh fuck! so fucking tight...'. He yanked your head back at once, almost making you throw up. the shiny strings of saliva still pulled your lips to his still throbbing tip.

'Not half bad, miss. But I ain't cumming in your mouth tonight.' He smirked, chest rising and falling as he tried his best to hold back .

His lips pursed together, spitting a load straight on your tongue and smearing it over your mouth before grabbing your jaw between his fingers with a maniac grimace on his face.

'If only Coach and the rest of the black team knew what our doc does in her free time...' He chuckled and smacked your cheek.

'If only they got to watch 'Miss perfect' slobber on this cock like a whore.'

His vile words jabbed at your pride, almost making your tears spill out, but you still had it in yourself to defy him.

'I'm not the one with the sex jinx...'

'Oh, got ourselves some attitude too, huh?'...

He slammed you down on the bed and sat on top of you, blocking your legs between his and forcing your jaw open.

'Don't try me. I'll fuck it right out of you, miss doc.'

You hated his attitude, or so you thought. Though your pussy clenching at his nasty words suggested otherwise. He flipped you over and pulled your underwear to the side, dragging his tip along painfully slow.

'Running your mouth while wetting your cunt senseless seems quite insencere of you...Don't ya think?' He teased and pressed it deeper against your entrance.

'B-But it's not like that! I'm just...'

A painful smack hit your ass, leaving the red imprint on your cheek. You cried out in pain and grabbed at his arm, your juices staining his perfume-fragant bedsheets.   

'Ah...Mr. Joo!, p-please stop..'

'Aww, got ya begging so fast already? slutty doc.' He lifted you over his lap and thrusted in, ripping the loudest scream from you.

'AH!' You threw your head against his chest in surprise.

He stood up and held your whole body in his arms, bouncing you up and down his length. You felt almost weightless in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck and muffling your loud sobs into his neck.

'Mr Joo, s-slower...please!'

'Shush, And hold on tight. Your butt's gonna hurt a bit now...'

He pulled out and gave himself a few pumps before switching into your tiny butthole.

'Sir, wait! I've never-'

'God, get it together now, would ya?' Another spank electrifyed you, making your asscheek all red again. 'We still have a long night ahead of us!'

He hammered away at your stomach, The flush on his cheeks gaining a darker shade. The pain of his reckless thrusts toned down, yet his unmatched stamina had you chewing your poor lip.  

'Mmh who could've guessed? Miss doc's getting her ass pounded like a slut.' He grunted, 'you sure carry yourself different outside this room. hmm?'

His pace got faster as his fingers dug deeper into your poor thighs, panting and groaning against your damp skin.

'Aghh..even I couldn't tell how well you could take cock when I first met you.' You knew he was fucking you stupid when his bitter words flew over your head. your brain didn't really catch a sound. Your senses saturated with him filling you up, till your body almost collapsed under his much bigger frame. His fingers instantly caught you by your neck, pulling you back up to him.

'Arch that back properly! you keep fucking slipping.'

'Sir! when..d-do we get to rest..agh' You could barely articulate from his cock punching your g-spot. And he'd be lying if he said the view of you babbling your nonsense while gushing on his dick didn't drive him wilder.  

'Ever rode dick before?' He teased,

'Cause you'll be the one taking charge now.'

He layed down and folded his arms behind his head, smirking at you as he stopped moving inside.

'Your turn, miss therapist.'

You leaned forward, already feeling dizzy, palms holding tight onto his defined pecs. Then slowly rocked your hips with his, whimpering as your clit kissed his pelvis.

Your skin lit up with every touch of his own, almost as if his touch burned you. His grip on your thighs kept you from falling, yet you still felt lightheaded, almost like passing out. He grabbed your waist again and slammed you shut on his cock with a furious impatience.

'AHH, Fuck!' You mewled as you came on his stomach right away. The shockwaves rushing through your muscles had you crash down over his torso right away.

'Hey. I'm far from done here.'

He lifted you off his chest and placed you under him. And you whined in response, feeling him enter you again

'Get your shit together now. I ain't here to baby-sit!'

His pace got instantly erratic and so did his grunts. Driving you insane with his hands manhandling your back, spanking your ass, grabbing your waist, squeezing your hips and mercilessly tightening around your neck.

'F-uck, I cum inside by the way.' He grabbed you in a chokehold as he pumped his potent seed in your butthole, then grinned and pulled out slowly, whispering into the crook of your neck

'I just made you my cumdump. Congrats, Doc.' you tightened at the sound of his voice,  pushing his cum loads out your hole. He licked his lips in full pride, relishing at the sight of your seeping butt before pulling you to his chest again.

'Oh and just so you know, I never go less than 3 rounds on my matches' eve...'

Your body grew numb, and equally did your brain. Though you knew he had yet to satisfy his desire. You didn't know how much longer you had to go, nearing to pass out on his greedy lust. His rough touches spared no spot on your flesh, his powerful thighs slamming yours in the most feral ways...

-----

...You woke up to the mild sunrays, faint hints of his cologne bringing back the lewdest flashbacks he gave you. He was nowhere to be seen, only a large-sized towel left on side of the bed you believed he layed on.

You grabbed your phone as you slowly regained your senses, seeing a notification on your screen.

'𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞., 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐭?'…

𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑?...

𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

---

ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ KINKTOBER 2023 ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

➸ DAY TEN: THE GAME.

ﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*

summary: Eren hate everything about you - from your attitude to your friends and your clothes, he hates you. You make other's lives miserable, and he's determined to put you in your place with an innocent game which results in you having to do whatever he wants for the rest of the night.

CW: fem reader, smut, halloween party, costumes, drinking, beer pong, reader is a bitch like you are seriously unlikeable, like she's a bully & your typical mean girl, masturbation, men being men but only for a sec, reader has to do whatever Eren wants yet the sexual stuff is consensual, spanking, bondage, degrading, eren steals ur thong, public sex, semi-public sex, praise, blowjob, throat-fucking, slapping, choking, biting, humping/shoe-fucking, eren calls you 'princess', no use of y/n.

a/n: so we're a good while into november and i'm just posting my last kinktober post - oops. i've been so busy plus i wanted to wait cus idk if it's disrespectful to the dead to post smut about them (spoiler warning) like right after they died. anyway, i read a book or another fanfic w a similiar plot ages ago and it's been stuck in my head since but i can't rememeber what it's called lol.

word count: 13.7k - if you read this, ilysm.

masterlist.

Eren couldn’t stand you. He couldn’t stand the way you thought so highly of yourself or how you’d walk around with your head high and a disgusted look on your face when you saw someone like him. He couldn’t stand people you surround yourself with or how you managed to look so fucking good in every outfit you put on.

He could't stand the raging urge he felt to fuck the attitude right out off you.

On the other hand, you found yourself not looking twice in his direction unless it was to make a snide comment to your friends followed by a mocking laugh before you went on with your day not thinking about him for another second.

Eren, however, would think about that comment for the rest of the day. It didn't upset him, he was by no means offended by your comment. It just shocked him to an immeasurable amount that you were still this much of an impudent bitch in college. Surely you would have managed to grow up a bit after high school, right?

No. Not a single part of you had managed to catch a glimpse of the real world past the curtains of your life as a spoiled, popular, hot girl who thought there was nothing out there more important than money and looks.

In all fairness, both of those things had gotten you everything you had ever wanted, yet in effect, it ruined the lives of the people around you as you dragged them down to build yourself up.

That's why he came to this party, knowing fully well that you would be here. Tonight, he was determined to humble you - make you feel every fraction of hurt and shame you had forced onto other's your entire life.

Eren wasn't exactly popular, which is why he was shocked to have been invited to this party in the first place. He had his small group of friends and he was content with that. Mikasa and Armin were also skeptical of coming, confused as to why Eren was so persistent after he had spent all of his years in high school and the time you had spent together in college slandering your name and every other popular mother fucker - all of them were exactly like you, and all of them were at this party.

He had a slight feeling that it was due to Jean, the host of the party, and his blatant crush on Mikasa - yet she went wherever Eren went and they could always count on Armin to tag along as well, even if it took a lot of persuasion from Eren. Armin was confused why Eren was so persistent on coming, yet he let it go once Eren got defensive when he asked.

It was a halloween party, meaning there were all sorts of costumes to be seen from every corner. Of course, you were all adults now, so instead of anything actually scary there were mini-skirts and shirtless guys wherever his eyes fell. Eren didn’t want to dress up - in fact, he had forgotten completely as he was so focused on coming up with a plan that would land you right where he wanted you, therefore, he opted for a tight black shirt and some baggy pants.

Once his eyes caught yours, he scoffed. You were dressed entirely in black. A black corset decorated with beautiful patterns, a small black skirt (that could have passed as a belt but that didn't seem to bother you), black fishnets and boots that reached up past your knees. Of course, to finish the look, there was a pair of angel wings and a halo that adorned your head. A dark angel, not an uncommon look but considering you were the only one wearing it, it could have passed as that. The reason he had scoffed at the sight of you was because he assumed you must have threatened anyone going for the same look as you in order to assure you were different to everyone else - he couldn't think of you any more highly than that.

He mentally scolded himself for the way his eyes were dragging themselves all over the parts of your body that your costume didn’t cover - and there was a lot of it on display. Your costume left hardly anything to the imagination.

Eren could feel himself hardening in his pants just from the sight of you and he cursed himself internally for it. Why here and why now? Usually, just the thought of you would be enough to rile him up enough for him to get hard but tonight he swore he wouldn’t let his eyes or mind wander.

Quickly, he excused himself, leaving behind a confused Mikasa and Armin. The pair had exchanged glances since they had arrived due to Eren’s strange behaviour - but they chose not to bring it up.

The house was massive, and there were plenty of bathrooms, so nobody should mind if he occupied this one in particular for just long enough to take care of his problem.

His back hit the wall and he groaned in both pleasure and frustration once his hand reached to free his aching dick. He held his shirt up with his teeth and watched as his hand moved up and down his hardened cock.

His breath hitched when his thumb ran across the tip and he threw his head back and screwed his eyes shut in order to help prevent any more noises from leaving his throat.

Eren’s mind wandered to the sight of your thighs clad in those black fishnets and the way your skirt was so short he was certain that if you bent down just a little, he’d be able to take a peek at your ass from underneath. He wanted nothing more than to tear those angel wings right off you whilst whispering in your ear from behind about how much of a dirty slut you were and how there was no place in heaven for such a dirty thing like you all whilst fucking into you relentlessly to the point where you were too fucked-dumb to argue back.

The grip he had on his dick tightened and he shuddered at the feeling, his pace increasing as the sound of him fisting his cock rang throughout the bathroom. He was panting  and groaning, unable to hold himself back for much longer.

What sent him over the edge, was the thought of how well you’d take him because he knew that underneath all the layers of this vain and hateful version of yourself was a slut who was begging to get degraded and humiliated - even if you didn’t know it yet. He envisioned how tightly your cunt would squeeze him as though it was so desperate for his cock and how you’d whine and plead him to stop like a brat but you’d never use your safe word because at the end of the day, you needed him to fill you up. He pictured the cute face you’d make as you came all around his cock, screaming his name and dragging your nails down his back.

Eren wasn’t able to control himself for much longer before let out a strained groan and shot hot ropes of cum over his hand all whilst his grip on his cock never slowed or stopped for a second.

He had spent many nights in this situation - fisting his cock until he was all out of orgasms whilst picturing all the different positions he’d put you in and all the types of punishments you’d have to endure just to get a taste of his dick.

Tonight. He told himself. Tonight he will have all of that - he’ll have you begging for all of it.

Quickly, he cleaned himself up and opened the door, surprised to only find one person waiting who could barely hold himself up which saved him the embarrassment of having to walk out to find a crowd of people waiting.

He rejoined Mikasa and Armin, and began to wait for the perfect moment to put his plan in action.

You, however, were sitting in the living room on the armrest of one of the chairs with your other stuck up, self-obsessed friends, chatting shit about every person under the sun whilst simultaneously insulting each other as subtly as possible. 

You were sitting by Hitch, leaning against her whilst absentmindedly playing with a strand of her hair as she leaned back and sipped on her drink watching as the people around her tore each other and everyone else to bits.

Hitch had been your one and only true friend - the only one you could securely say you trusted with anything and the only person you would let see through your bitchy facade and the wall of hidden insecurities lying within. The only thing allowing you to act so cruel and heartless towards others was that very wall, the one that prevented people from getting close to you but also letting anything out that may subject you to the same remarks you throw around so casually. In the world of social status, it was kill or be killed - but in more of a metaphorical manner. 

Occasionally, you would chime into the slaughter of other people’s names and reputations, adding your own (exaggerated) experiences and opinions of other people’s lives. 

You stopped paying as much attention when the guys started talking disgustingly about which girls they were planning on fucking tonight - you simply turned to hitch and rolled your eyes to which she laughed. 

“How about her over there?” one of the guys asked, pointing in the direction of a brunette standing awkwardly on her own as she tried to drink her nerves away. It was quite clear she was listening in on the conversation, whether that was involuntarily or on purpose, and the very mention of her caused her to quickly glance at your group before turning her face away - burning a bright red colour whilst looking for a way to escape, yet she was unsuccessful and ended up staying put.

Luckily for her, you gave her her own way of escape.

“Her? No, she’s such a slut.” You said without hesitation because it was what you did. You had walked in on her making out with another guy in the bathroom a few months ago and of course you had to tell everybody about it. “I mean, she can’t keep it in her pants long enough to wait until she’s not in public to fuck her weird ass boyfriend.”

The people around you snickered and the girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. You were being purposefully loud, making extra sure that she could hear you and not feeling an ounce of guilt.

“I mean, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” One of the girls sat across from you said.

You were used to other girls trying to throw passive aggressive comments in your direction, yet it would always end with them knocked out cold or with a broken nose so not many tried anymore - so her blatant rudeness threw you off a bit however you tried to keep your composure. You gave her a tight lipped smile and she stared at you with challenging eyes.

“Sorry, who are you?” you asked, clear malice sewn into your voice.

She laughed mockingly before replying. “Just someone who doesn’t sleep with every guy who gives her the time of day.”

Squeezing your empty cup, you scoffed and got up from your seat, clearly vexed by the comment made yet not quite drunk enough to start a fight just yet. 

What the fuck does she know? People thought of you as a self-obsessed whore, but in reality, only one of those things were true. You had only slept with two other guys, one being your long-term boyfriend and the other being a rebound after your break-up.

As you walked, Hitch called out to you, asking you where you were going and as you turned around to shout back, Eren could feel the excitement growing inside of him at the opportunity that had presented itself - the one he had been waiting for and imagining since the day he first saw you.

“I’m gonna grab another drink.” You shouted back to her over the music, she could barely hear you, but she nodded anyway.

Eren made his way to the path that you were taking and accidentally bumped into you.

Spinning around, you glared at him with nothing but anger and disgust. “Watch where you’re going, freak.”

Not wanting to waste anymore time, you attempted to walk off from him and make your way to the kitchen. Yet, Eren had other plans.

Swiftly, he grabbed your arm. His hold wasn’t painful, yet it was firm enough that you couldn’t escape it.

He wanted to laugh at the look on your face.

It was one that indicated that nobody like him, nobody beneath you, had ever stood up to you before. Nobody like him had grabbed you before. Your eyes were wide, and if he looked hard enough, he swore he would have been able to see steam coming out from your ears, yet his hold didn’t falter for a second. 

“What the fuck are you doing, perv? How fucking dare you-”

“I want you to apologise.” He started, and that look of amazement on your face only seemed to grow. For the first time in your life, you were utterly speechless.

“What?”

“It wasn’t my fault you bumped into me. You were the one who wasn’t watching where you were going.” His grip around you tightened slightly, causing your face to scrunch up before your lips parted in shock. “Therefore, I want you to apologise.”

Eren’s voice was low and calm, there wasn’t a hint of any pent up frustration hidden anywhere within it. In fact, he sounded like he didn’t know who you were, and to you, it looked like it as well.

After snapping out of your stupor, you let out a harsh laugh at his demand and jolted out of his hold, taking a few steps back. “You want me to apologise? Over my dead body. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

You started to recognise him from one of your classes but you refused to portray any sort of recognition in your voice or features, not wanting to inflate his ego any higher or make him feel any more special than he already does just from talking to you. Evan? Ernie?

“Someone who’s not gonna fucking bow down to you and fall to his knees begging for an apology, princess.” Every syllable was laced with sarcasm and there was a hint of resentment in his tone - the latter not being something you weren’t used to, there were plenty of people who hated you in silence because of envy though it wasn’t typically something you heard from guys.

“Are you asking to get your ass kicked, or what? Just because you won't do anything I ask, doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of guys who won't.”

Eren looked down at you with a lazy smirk plastered on his face, and if you weren’t so pissed off at him, you would have been able to recognise the traces of malicious intent hidden behind the green of his eyes - like he was planning something.

And, fuck, was he planning something.

“Fine then,” his head motioned to the table setup with various cups filled with beer. “One game of beer pong. Loser apologises.”

He wasn’t an idiot - he knew you’d refuse to waste your time on a useless apology that you didn’t want all that much and he was the same. There’s no way he’d actually play you just for an apology.

“As if. I don’t want to waste any more time on you than I already have.”

Before you could walk off, Eren grabbed your arm once again.

“Okay… then the loser has to do whatever the other person wants for the rest of the night.”

As he expected, you stopped resisting. It pissed you off immensely that Eren wasn’t the type to just do whatever you wanted, and right now you wanted nothing more than for him to understand his place.

You paused in consideration. If you won, there wouldn’t be much of a difference. You didn’t need Eren to be in your corner all night waiting for your command, you had plenty of people who wouldn’t say no when you asked them to do something. The only thing you’d gain is more pride. If you lost, however, you’d have to do whatever Eren says and that would damage your reputation far past fixable. It would be social suicide and you’d never recover from the humiliation. But, you wouldn’t lose, right?

"Fine then," You started, eyeing him up and down as your tongue ran across your teeth. "Loser has to do whatever the winner wants for the rest of the night. Deal?"

The two of you shook on it, you making an exaggerated gesture of wiping your hand on your outfit after your hands separated just to remind him of how low he stood beneath you. Eren only let out a curt laugh as he rolled his eyes.

"Can't wait to make you my little bitch, Aaron."

A slight pause before he replied, "It's Eren."

Narrowing his eyes at you in utter disbelief, he tried to calm himself down, reminding himself that there would be plenty of opportunities for him to humiliate you later.

"Yeah... okay." You gave him a look that signified how little you cared. He simply brushed it off.

The two of you began to head towards the table, two people in the process of finishing up a game before you snapped at them to leave. Eren, on the other hand, had been pulled to the side by Mikasa and Armin, the latter scolding him for what he was about to do.

“If you lose, you’ll never live it down. If you win, her fucking minions will be on you like-”

“I know what I’m doing, just leave it.”

The two watched Eren as he turned his back, heading for the table where you were waiting with an impatient scowl on your face despite the fact you had only been waiting for about two minutes.

Mikasa tried to call out to him, yet her efforts were futile given the loud music that still boomed throughout the halls. Giving up, the pair looked at each other with concern etched into their features before reluctantly joining the crowd that had formed around the two of you.

You made a snappy comment along the lines of ‘getting this over and done with’ before Eren gestured for you to go first. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation as you threw the first shot, immediately getting it into one of the back cups and watched, unblinking, as Eren tossed the cup's contents down his throat like it was nothing.

This went on for a while - you'd successfully get the ball into one of his cups and then watch intently as he drank the beer inside. There was something about watching the way his throat would bop or how he’d wipe his mouth, his eyes on yours, and then tossing it to the side before taking a ball and throwing it effortlessly into one of your cups.

You hated how attractive he was and hated yourself for not being able to take your eyes off him.

Now, you had only three cups left, whereas he had four. You cursed yourself for missing the last time but it wasn’t your fault when you could feel his eyes burning holes through you whilst he shot you that same stupid smirk he kept giving you.

It wasn’t because you found it attractive, it just irritated you endlessly. There was no other logical explanation than irrational anger - that's what caused you to miss your last shot. So, as you watched him throw the ball and the way it danced around the rim of your cup before falling in, you promised yourself you wouldn’t miss these last shots.

The other times you had missed, he wasn’t smirking at you nor was he staring at you like he could see through your clothes - so it really was the only explanation.

As much as he liked to think he did, he didn’t make you nervous.

Taking the cup, you lifted it to your lips and swallowed back the beer, some of it dribbling down your chin and down your chest.

Eren refused to let himself react loudly, though, as he fought against how his hands were gripping onto the table and how his jaw was clenched. 

The two of you continued the game, Eren missing once, leaving the two of you with only one cup left.

It was Eren’s turn, but it didn’t matter whether or not he got this last one in as long as you could get your next in.

Your fingers tapped anxiously and impatiently against the table as he stretched out his turn for longer than he should have been - like he was purposefully trying to ensure you missed your next throw. 

Aiming the ball, he threw it perfectly in the cup causing your face to drop before immediately wiping the reaction off your face.

Running his tongue over his teeth, he looked up at you with a winning smile and a vicious look in his eyes. “Your turn, princess. You don’t wanna miss this one.” Eren drawled, standing back from the table and crossing his arms arrogantly. “Unless, you actually want to be my bitch for the rest of the night.”

The large group of people gathered around all of you snickered at his comment and waited for your response eagerly. 

“In your dreams, perv.” You snarled at him, taking the ball and aiming it carefully at the last cup. Taking a deep breath in, you threw the ball and hoped for the best.

Watching as it hit the rim of the cup and bounced straight back off, your eyes widened and your face filled with horror. Your hands fell to your sides and you stared blankly at the cup in defeat.

“Just one more go, I-”

Reaching for the ball that had betrayed you and had begun to roll to your side of the table, you were cut off by Eren placing his hand over yours as it rested on top of the ball. Your head snapped up to meet his in annoyance. Once again, he was looking down at you and you had never felt so small. Your heart stuttered, there was too much humour in his crooked smile for someone who had innocently proposed a game of beer pong.

“No. We made a deal.” He sounded so naturally calm and though his voice wasn’t gloating - his eyes certainly were. 

You wanted to cry but you wouldn’t allow yourself to. There was no way you’d toss away all of your pride tonight - you were already going to have to do anything he asked you to so you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

Dropping your head and releasing the grip you had on the ball, you pulled away from him and sighed in defeat. It pissed you off to no extent to lose in front of all these people, especially seeing as though Eren had made the terms of the game clear to everyone watching.

You couldn’t help but scold yourself for even accepting those terms - it benefitted you very little. Never did you think you would lose and have to follow Eren around like a dog all night and wait for him to give a command.

Folding your arms, you raised your head, deciding to at least pretend that your defeat hadn’t pissed you off endlessly. 

“So?” You asked, waiting for whatever embarrassing wish he had for you to fulfil.

“I want you to get on your knees and apologise.”

You felt the life drain from your face as your heart plummeted. As if the night couldn’t get any more humiliating, Eren was right there to remind you that it can and it will. Shaking your head, you swallowed nervously and replied. “No way. Not in front of all these people.”

“We had a deal, didn’t we? On your knees, princess.” He spat venomously. You looked up into his eyes with a silent pleading desperation and realised there was no negotiating when you noticed how lifeless and full of hatred his eyes were. It also hit you at that moment that he had been waiting for an opportunity like this for a while. Had he planned this entire thing?

Looking around, you felt a burning amount of rage flow through you as you bit your lip and sank to your knees.

“I’m sorry.” Your tone wasn’t short of seething anger and you kept your head down, not wanting to look at how proud he must be.

“Aw, c’mon, you can do better than that,” Your fingers grasped at the thin and short material of your skirt in frustration. “Look, you can sit here and apologise properly to get this over and done with, or we can be here all night - which is only more embarrassing for you, really. I mean, at least try to sound sorry.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit for the second time in two minutes, he was right, so you caved in.

“I’m sorry, Eren. I’m sorry I wasn’t watching where I was going and bumped into you and I’m sorry I said it was your fault. Also, I’m sorry for calling you a freak… and a perv,” Looking up at him, you stare intently into his eyes, like he was the only other person in the room. Your voice lowered to just over a whisper. “Please forgive me.”

Eren stood above you with his arms folded - his face now void of any emotion, not even a hint of pride or victory carved into his features as he looked down on you.

“Hm. I’ll think about it.”

How the fuck did he manage to annoy you more and more with every word that fell from his lips? He’ll think about it? What the fuck does he even mean by that? 

“You asked me to apologise, and I did. So just fucking forgive me.”

Eren crouched down to your level and took your chin in between his index finger and thumb before leaning over to whisper in your ear. “I’d watch what you say, princess. You don’t wanna get punished do you? I mean, how would all these people react once I tell them their perfect girl keeps pressing her legs together every time I look at her?”

He noticed that? No, scrap that - why the fuck did just the mention of getting punished cause that familiar throbbing in between your legs? And the way his breath was fanning your ear and how low his voice sounded as he spoke. What the fuck was he doing to you?

Pulling away, he gave you an expectant look and you shook your head - agreeing with him.

He stood up and motioned for you to follow him.

Fuck was this going to be a long night.

Within minutes of his victory, there were people crowding Eren and talking to him like they had been friends for years - like he wasn’t the type they’d make fun of behind his back. Like you hadn’t watched them.

You dragged your feet and followed him wherever he went, occasionally going to fetch him or his new-found friends another drink whenever he asked you to. 

He wasn’t talking to you much, and you were grateful for that. He didn’t gloat or brag about his victory, he simply gave you a demanding look and gave you a task to do. 

Despite this, he was constantly looking over at you. His eyes would wander down your body just like they had done when you bumped into him and like they were when you were playing beer pong. His eyes would burn holes into your skin before he would lick his lips and turn back around to rejoin the conversation he had temporarily removed himself from. You assumed he was simply trying to make sure you hadn’t ran off.

The thought had crossed your mind a few times. You could run off and save your reputation, but you were getting an odd sort of pleasure from the way he was ordering you around, laughing at you and thinking of new ways he could humiliate you in front of everyone.

Him not speaking to you, however, also gave you the time to properly look at him as well. You were right previously, he was in one of your classes. He sat at the back, typically staring out the window or twirling his pen. You don’t know how you never really paid any attention to him before because there was something about him that was so… attractive. 

Eren had a quiet, brooding look about him that would generally scare other people - or at least earn him a few weird looks.

Not tonight, however. His typical chilling look was embraced given the fact it was halloween and it made you seethe with anger at his blatant hypocrisy after he had made his distaste of you due to your popularity so apparent all whilst soaking in the amount of attention he was getting instead of you.

You were outraged that you were having to stoop down to his level and embarrass yourself in front of everyone. Yet, for some reason, you weren’t able to prevent the throbbing feeling between your legs when he was looking down at you and commanding you to do something else he could have done easily on his own.

You were glaring at him when he suddenly decided to excuse himself from the group he was with and called you to follow him. Cursing under your breath, you hurried after him with an annoyed look plastered onto your face.

“What's wrong with you?” He did nothing to hide his mocking tone or the humour he found in your situation.

“I have no clue what you’re on about. I just fucking love following you around like a dog and doing whatever you want.” You snapped, crossing your arms and furrowing your brows.

“Well that's good, considering you’ll be doing it for the rest of the night.”

There was a ringing in your ear and you wanted nothing more than to take a hammer and smash every single speaker that echoed the beat of the music throughout the cramped halls. Every brush of someone walking past you was making you incredibly frustrated and you felt so close to lashing out at someone - preferably Eren.

“You’re an asshole.”

Within seconds, you were pulled into an empty corner and pushed against the wall. Eren had one of his hands on your hip and the other had a deathly grip on your chin. 

“And you’re a pathetic slut who’s been staring at me the entire night with those stupid ‘fuck me’ eyes and pressing her legs together because it’s all the action she’ll be getting for a while after this.”

Your heart was thumping in your chest because of his bold accusations, and despite this, you could feel yourself growing hotter. Your skin became more sensitive and was tingling at every touch and where his hand was touching gently on your hip it felt like you were burning.

You were holding your breath - hardly able to speak or think of a comeback until you remembered how he had been eyeing you the entire time as well.

“Oh yeah? Haven’t you been eye-fucking me this entire night? If you play your cards right, I might let you fuck me?”

Eren pulled back slightly and barked out a laugh at your response as though it was the funniest thing in the world which only irritated you more, though you refused to show it.

Subtly, he slipped his leg in between yours and pushed them away slightly, creating room for him to press his thigh up against your clothed pussy and giving you a taste of the pleasure he could bring you just by simply moving his thigh to rest between your legs. Though, he knew what he was doing as he moved his leg slightly resulting in him grinding his leg against your clit causing you to whine softly.

“Let me? Princess, you really have no idea who’s in control, don’t you? If I feel like fucking you, I will, and you’re gonna take it like a good girl, aren’t you? Because, you’ve been so good to me the entire night, you don’t want to spoil it, do you? I mean, sure, you can’t take a single order without a complaint or any back talk, but you’re getting there. You’re a spoiled little thing, but one that I can shape easily into a perfect little slut.”

The way he was talking about you and degrading you would have usually had you slapping him in the face and walking off immediately. But the way his insults rolled off his tongue so naturally was so appealing and had the control that you were so desperately trying to grasp at, falling from your fingers even further than before. 

That’s what you needed. Control.

“You’re right, Eren,” biting your lip, you took one of your fingers and slid it down his shirt and across his stomach. You felt like gasping when you could feel his figure through the tight material of the shirt yet you decided to remain silent. “I’ve been so good to you. Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

Control was something that was very short-lived when you were faced with someone like Eren. Someone who could so easily snatch it up from underneath your nose and wave it obnoxiously in your face.

“For what, hm? Doing as you’re told? That’s what I fucking expect from you. No, you’ll get a reward when you impress me. Like I said, you can’t even get through a single task without a complaint. What’s so difficult about grabbing a couple of drinks?”

“You won’t let me have one.” You retorted, a pout settling on your face. The first time he had told you to get him a drink, you had got one for yourself as well - a way to calm your nerves and help you through this dreadful night. Immediately, he had taken your drink away from you and drank it right in front of your face as you stood there and watched dumb-founded.

He had told you that you weren’t allowed another drink unless he permitted you to and you blew up in his face about how unfair it was and called him a variety of creative insults.

Eren was ensuring that you were sober enough to feel the humiliation of your situation but also that you were in the right state of mind for when he inevitably fucks you tonight.

“That’s right, I won’t. You’ll understand why soon.”

Eren removed himself away from you completely and went on about his night like that interaction hadn’t left him as flustered and yet simultaneously annoyed as you were. 

He walked into the same living room you had started your night in. There was a different group of people in there, yet immediately, as if he was famous, someone offered their seat to Eren and two girls sat themselves next to him.

There was a panging feeling of jealousy hovering within you as you watched them touch his arms and laugh unnecessarily loud at one of his jokes.

He had just been flirting with you and yet somehow, he had easily moved on to the two girls he saw next whilst asking them if they wanted a drink because he knew just the person to fetch them.

You stormed off to the kitchen, pissed off at how he seemed to be enjoying the company of those two other girls far more than your own. 

But why? They wouldn’t be able to handle him like you could. If he was finding pleasure in ordering you about and forcing you to humiliate yourself, all whilst grinding his thigh against you in a place where anyone could have walked past, who knew what other kinky shit he was into?

There was a sense of desperation that hung over you. You wanted him to notice you, you wanted to get his attention so badly, you wanted to show him just how much of a slut you could be for him.

There was no way he’d even look in the direction of another woman after tonight, you swore it.

Bending down, you placed their drinks on the table, flashing him your black, lacy thong in the process yet not caring because you took pleasure in showing off knowing the people behind him could see as well.

“That’s a nice thong you’re wearing.” He stated blandly. You turned around to look down at him, sitting so carelessly on the sofa with his arms draped around two other girls. 

For some reason, this frustrated you to no extent. You wanted to believe that it was because of how annoying it was that he could pretend like he couldn’t care less about you. But, in reality, you wanted nothing but his attention on you. You didn’t want him to be touching other girls - that was the reason you had flashed him your thong as well, in hopes that he would catch a glimpse of what he was missing.

You grinned when he noticed the fact that he had been staring so shamelessly at your clothed pussy, letting you know that he did want you and not them.

What he said afterwards, took you aback. The grin on your face immediately being wiped away from existence - no trace of it to be seen.

“Give it to me.”

Your mouth was agape and there was nothing but disgust plastered all over your face before you quickly covered it up with your typical look of nonchalance. 

The people surrounding you whistled, still invested in the ongoing dare and what would turn out to be your inevitable downfall. There was still a sizable crowd amongst the dozens of other people pretending to be minding their own businesses. People you had known for years, people you had made fun of and chat shit about were relishing blatantly at your humiliation.

There was only one thing that you could do, and that was pretend to be as unaffected by the situation as possible. So, without another second of hesitation, you reached up underneath your skirt and pulled down your thong slowly as your eyes remained locked on Eren’s, both of your faces portraying zero emotion.

As you pulled your thong down your legs, you felt shame as your arousal clinged to it desperately and you knew that the minute you handed the fabric to him, he’d be able to see a glistening wetness. Your pussy had betrayed you, and now he was going to know exactly how you were responding to his degrading demands and humiliation.

Like he didn’t already know.

Still, you kept your face expressionless as though you weren’t ashamed and cringing and dying a little bit inside.

At the end of the day, there were still crowds of people around you, howling and praising your name for being so bold and hot.

Someone had to be reminding them of what they wanted but couldn’t have - yet there was a part inside of you that was worried the boys would begin to think of you as some common whore who’d have sex with anyone - including them.

You only had room for one worry at the moment, and at least they still somewhat respected you, even if it was just for now.

You twirled the small, black fabric around your finger with an alluring smirk on your face. “Are these what you want, Eren? You’re nothing but a perv.” You said, bending down to shove the panties against his chest before quickly standing back up again and sitting down on one of the other chairs, not wanting to be around him as much as you had to.

He held your thong in his hand and you stared at him in wait. He had immediately noticed the wet patch, and you were waiting patiently for him to announce it to the entire room, giving him a look of false encouragement by raising your eyebrows expectantly - but that moment never came. He simply stared back at you and winked, like it was your own little secret and you thanked him mentally for it as you let out a breath of relief.

Eren didn’t even try to hide how he shoved your thong into his pocket as he called out your name.

You rolled your eyes. Again? Could he not let you have just one break?

“Come and sit over here so I can keep my eye on you.” The girls beside him giggled and you wanted nothing more than to scream in the faces and rip their heads off but thankfully, you refrained. “Right in front of me, on your knees.”

Once again, you complied to his request, standing up and walking over to kneel down right in front of him, shooting him a look that said ‘are you happy, now?’ to which he just smirked and went back to talking to those two other girls.

He should have been the one on his knees. He should be on his knees, thanking you for giving him the time of day that he needed in order to get those girls’ attention. Before you, he was absolutely nothing - not a single girl on his shoulder. Now, because of you, he had two of them and yet it was you that was on your knees.

Without your thong, you felt exposed and anxious that soon you’d be able to feel your arousal dripping down your legs or that someone would be able to see your dripping pussy.

Your mind was spinning, so much so you couldn’t feel Eren’s hard eyes on you as the two girls he was with continued to speak to him like he was paying them any attention. He could see the way your eyes were moving around frantically, the way your legs were pressed together so tightly as you lay your hands in your lap and fidgeted with your fingers. He was concentrating so heavily on you that even over the sounds of chatter and music, he swore he could hear the change in pace of your breathing. 

Suddenly, your eyes connected with his. You were taken aback to find that he was already looking at you and if it embarrassed him that you caught him, his face didn’t show it. Neither of you broke the eye contact you held for a while, both too stubborn to be the first to lose. Instead, you just stood up and brushed your skirt down - claiming you needed to go to the bathroom.

His eyes narrowed at you suspiciously and you walked off as soon as you saw his lips part to respond, knowing it would only displease him.

You started pushing through the crowds of people, desperate to get to the bathroom as quickly as possible. You could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and the way your skin felt hot with embarrassment at the idea of someone seeing. 

For some reason, you had only gotten more wet when you saw how Eren was staring at you and how he didn’t take his eyes off you even when you caught him. 

There were slight murmurs of your name followed by mocking laughs as you made your way to the bathroom but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care - the only thing on your mind was Eren.

You were so close, mere steps away from reaching the door handle and behind able to relieve yourself when all of a sudden you were being spun around and dragged away causing you to curse whoever was preventing you from relieving yourself from your torment. And of course, who else would it be apart from Eren?

You stared at his back as he walked with your wrist in his hand and you could tell he was pissed off at you - just from his grip and the way that he was walking alone.

The two of you stopped in the corner of a very compact area, there were people everywhere but that didn’t stop Eren from trapping you. Luckily enough, the people around you were either far too high or drunk to pay the two of you much attention as they messily grinded on one another and blew smoke around the room.

Eren forced your head to look in his direction by taking your face in his hand roughly.

There was a scowl adorned on his lips, yet, replacing the usual emptiness within his eyes was a spark that you hadn’t seen before and it made you question whether he had something planned.

His arm was caging you in and he peered down at you menacingly. “Care to explain?”

“I already told you.” you said, the corner the two of you were in was relatively quiet for a party so you hardly had to shout. There was also the fact you didn’t want to draw any attention to yourselves because you were already in a compromising position in front of all these people, you were just relieved they were too intoxicated to fully comprehend what was going on in the corner of their eyes. “I was going to the bathroom. Before you stopped me, that is. By the way, I’m blaming you if I piss myself in front of all these people.”

Whilst Eren may have let out a laugh, it was one that was devoid of any humour or enjoyment. He lowered his head and shook it slowly whilst he laughed and his grip on your chin with the hand that wasn’t confining you strengthened. “That’s funny because I don’t remember letting you.”

“And I don’t remember needing your permission.” You retorted, growing more vexed with every second that passed yet at the same time that throbbing feeling in between your legs came back as you stared at him intently, gauging his reaction. 

He dropped his hand from your face and lowered it down to your neck to which you instinctively gave him access by raising your chin. “We made a deal, didn’t we?” 

When you didn’t answer him, his clutch on your throat grew more intense causing your mouth to drop open in a mix of pain and pleasure. “Didn’t we?” Eren repeated.

“Y-yes, Eren.” Your voice was less than a whisper, too afraid you’d say the wrong thing. However, you appeared to have pleased him at least a bit as his grip loosened ever so slightly at your response making you sigh in relief.

“Good girl. Now tell me, did you actually need the bathroom? Or…” The hand on your throat once again left its place and made its way down your body and towards the space in between your legs and a single finger wiped some of the slick from your pussy earning a sigh from you as you let your head rest against the wall. Immediately, his hand was removed from your pussy and he brought it up to the space in between the two of you as he examined his finger carefully. His eyes were glued to how wet you were before they locked on yours. “...did you need to fix this little problem, hm?”

Your voice was failing you as you spewed out pathetic stutters of what was supposed to be denial of his accusation yet you both already knew the answer. In fact, he was only asking you to embarrass you. This entire thing, his only goal, was to crush you and leave you mortified - not even recognising yourself anymore. Still, you attempted to deny it nevertheless.

“No! Wh- why the fuck would I- I swear I just needed to go to the bathroom.” It couldn't have been less believable if you tried.

The fact that you even thought of lying to him was enough of a reason for him to punish you - in his eyes, anyway.

“Liar.” He spits, and his hand instantly goes back up to your throat as a way of letting you know that you had upset him. “Fine then. If you want to cum so badly, then touch yourself. Right here, right now. I want you to touch yourself.”

Your eyes went wide like you had seen a ghost, but in reality, this was much more shocking. Was he being serious? There’s no way he actually wanted you to touch yourself when there were so many people around, any of which could look in your direction and see the sinful act you would be committing.

That spark in his eyes. The same one you had noticed immediately once he turned to face you, it told you everything you needed to know.

He was really telling you to touch yourself. 

“What?” you exclaimed. Yet, you couldn’t lie, just the idea of any one of these people turning around to see your fingers plunged deep inside of you really turned you on.

“They won’t see you, not with me blocking you.” he reasoned, taking a step closer and further minimising the gap in between the two of you. 

“Still, Eren, that’s fucking crazy. There’s no way I’m doing that!” But, oh, you wanted to. Whilst your words were disapproving, you couldn’t help but think about how good it would feel to touch yourself in that moment, your clit was aching and begging for attention as a result of your neglect and your hole was desperate to be filled but no matter what, it was unreasonable to suggest doing something so vile.

Eren simply tutted at your resistance and shook his head like you were a child and he was inevitably going to get what he wanted no matter how many times you objected.

“The thing is, you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you? You could have left ages ago, but you didn’t. So there’s no point in arguing when we both know you’re going to end up giving in - not because I want you to, but because you want to. Try and hide it all you want, I know what I’ve seen.”

You swallowed nervously and looked around to see if anybody was watching the two of you. Still, you stayed motionless, scared of the consequences yet knowing that nobody would see you with Eren blocking you from anybody’s line of sight.

“What is it then, hm?” He asked with a fake tone of comfort. “Do you need me to help you?”

The feeling of his hand wandering down your bare arm before taking your hand in his own sent shivers throughout your entire body. You didn’t resist his movements, truthfully, you welcomed them. He moved your hand to the space in between your legs and used it to caress the inside of your thighs before your hand reached your soaking cunt.

“Don’t make me do all the work, princess.” 

It was like you were starting to act based on just his words and his voice. You found yourself wanting nothing more than him, wanting nothing more than to please him so that maybe he’ll fuck you.

You slipped your fingers inside of you and bit your lip to hold back any noises you wanted to make. Your fingers started slowly moving in and out inside of you and Eren drew back his hand and placed both of them on your hips, using his body to shield your own from any prying eyes. 

“That’s a good girl, so obedient.”

A quiet noise slipped from your throat and Eren hushed you soothingly as his thumbs caressed your hips.

Your fingers began to speed up and curled slightly in order to reach that spot that you knew would bring you close to the edge. Taking your thumb, you started rubbing steady circles on your clit and because of the added stimulation, it didn’t take long until your fingers were thrusting themselves continuously in and out of your soaking pussy whilst your thumb’s motions picked up the pace. 

“Tell me when you’re about to cum, okay?” You nodded in response, not thinking twice about it.

You used your other hand to cover your mouth and stop yourself from drawing any attention in your direction.

Eren’s lips found themselves on your neck, leaving gentle pecks up the side of it. His kisses were light as a feather and fleeting - gone and moving to another spot before you could truly appreciate his lips.

“Eren, I-” you began, your voice muffled due to your hand being placed over your mouth.

“Speak clearly, princess. I can’t hear you.” His voice vibrated over your neck and you whined louder than you should have done - your eyes instantly bulging out of their sockets as you looked around the room frantically to see if anyone heard and only let yourself breathe when you were certain nobody had.

“‘M gonna cum, Eren–”

Within seconds, Eren’s lips were off your neck and your hand had been dragged away from your aching pussy. You couldn’t even process what had happened because your mind was far too hazy, so you simply stared at Eren in disbelief.

You could feel your orgasm fading away and tears creeping up into your eyes. “W-what? Why did you- I don’t understand-”

“It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if I let you cum, would it?” 

He smoothed out your skirt for you in a fake gesture of kindness before walking off from you and shouted back for you to follow him.

You, on the other hand, needed a drink. So, you chose to walk in the opposite direction and instead towards the kitchen. Noticing this, he rolled his eyes and followed you instead. He called out your name several times but you paid him no attention as you took a cup and poured some alcohol into it before bringing it to your lips.

However, his hand stopped you before you could raise the cup and chug back its contents.

Eren removed the cup from your hand and placed it on the kitchen counter. “There’s a reason I don’t want you drinking alcohol and why I directly told you that you can’t have any.”

Still, you refused to listen and picked the cup back up against his wishes before taking a sip. 

“You’re acting like a brat.” Eren was clearly getting riled up, evident by the annoyance in his tone. “You seriously want to get punished again after the last time?”

Wiping your mouth, you considered his words, but the overwhelming feeling of vexation with him because of him denying you your orgasm overshadowed any reason or rationality, so instead, you simply shrugged and giggled to yourself a bit - feeling far too proud with yourself.

“Do you know how much fun it would be, how much pleasure it would bring me, if I was to tell everyone about that little wet patch I found on your thong, hm?”

You were fuming. How dare he threaten you? You couldn’t risk him telling anyone else. Just him knowing was embarrassing enough. 

Eren got closer to you, so close to the point where your chest was pressed up against his, and his head was mere inches from your own. You felt yourself growing hot, and that all too familiar feeling of need between your legs was prominent once again, just from the simple proximity between the two of you as though just him being close to you was far too much for you to handle.

“See, this bratty attitude of yours is gonna have to stop. Remember that you’re doing this willingly, and if I have to punish you again for acting like a brat then I won't hesitate to.” He cupped your cheek and spoke so softly, like he was complimenting you instead of scolding and threatening you with punishments. “So, are you going to be a good girl for me? Are you going to obey me like we agreed you would do?”

You were really started to hate him. You hated the way he spoke down to you like he was better than you. You hate the way that his threats and his insults and his words had this irreversible effect on you and caused you to press your legs together so pathetically like you couldn’t control yourself. You hated how you wanted nothing more than for him to make good on his words and just fuck you already. Mostly, you hated how much you didn’t hate it and you hated how you actually felt more inclined to misbehave than be good for him because even though it felt so good when he praised you, it also felt incredible when he punished you.

You looked inside your cup, checking out what was left of the drink - after seeing there wasn’t too much left, you took the cup and chucked everything inside of it at Eren before slamming it down on the kitchen island and tilting your head at him waiting for his reaction.

That, he hadn’t seen coming. He wasn’t expecting quick compliance out of you, but he assumed that after him preventing your orgasm you would at least show a little restraint. He had stumbled back a bit, shocked by your retaliation.

There was people surrounding the two of you now, vocalising their interest and edging Eren on to do something about it - he would, just not in front of them.

Lifting up his shirt, he wiped what had gotten on his face off before giving you a dead look and taking your arm in his hold and walking out of the kitchen. The people that were watching expectantly voiced their disappointment before going back to what they were doing.

You stumbled throughout the halls, people shooting the two of you odd looks as you followed him reluctantly - his grip on your arm merciless and all of a sudden you were actually aware of what you had just done. 

Eren opened the door to one of the many bedrooms and shoved you inside of it before swiftly shutting the door and locking it, his head hanging low whilst he faced the door and a brief silence fogging up the room, suffocating you.

You stood in the middle of the room, watching his back. You wanted to go up to him and apologise but you couldn’t find the courage to approach him. 

As he turned around, you noticed how his eyes looked dark and displeased, like you had really disappointed him this time and like it was his final straw in dealing with you. 

“You think that shit was cute, princess? ‘Cause I’m really not happy with you.”

“Look, Eren, I- I was just-”

The sound of his footsteps cut you off as he began walking over to you.

Without warning, he slapped your cheek causing the sound to reverberate around the room and the inevitable silence that stung your ears afterwards. You were no longer looking at him, your head tilted to the side and you resisted that prominent urge to press your legs together.

He cupped the cheek that he slapped and caressed it harshly. “Your safe word is red, do you understand.”

Giving him a clear nod, he took the initiative to pull you over to the bed that sat in the middle room before he took a seat and pulled you over his lap so that your ass was up in the air. He placed something on the bedside table, but you didn’t see what it was. Pulling up your skirt, he caressed the fat of your ass gently.

He sighed, shaking his head. “I was really starting to think that you were beginning to behave as well.”

The sound of a painful slap across your ass rang in your ears as you winced, gripping the sheets.

“I said I was sorry, Eren-”

“You think that’s fucking good enough?” Another slap, this time to your other cheek before he returned back to the other and slapped it a few more times. “You did a very bad thing, princess. I didn’t think you had it in you anymore after your last punishment but it turns out just edging you isn’t enough to help you learn.”

Eren’s palm slapped your ass with a sound that could be heard from the hallway if there wasn’t still music blasting throughout the halls. You sucked in a breath and your grip tightened on the bed’s covers as you waited for the next swat to come, and then the next and the one after that one as well - along with all the smacks that came after that.

Your skin was stinging and hot and it seemed like Eren was hell-bent on breaking you and peering through the cracks of your life with the sheer strength he was putting into every individual slap. 

And yet, for whatever sick and twisted reason that had derived from the most wicked parts of your mind, you were moaning and wriggling in his hold in a desperate attempt for friction against your aching cunt. You were finding pleasure in the pain he brought upon you no matter how much it stung and you wanted to cry.

You tried to squirm away as they got harder but it would always result in him somehow making the next harder than the last so you stopped trying.

“C’mon princess, take your punishment like a good little girl. You’re not leaving until you’ve learned your lesson so stay put.”

Letting out a low cry of pain, you tried to move your head up in an attempt to get away slightly yet he just brought his free hand to your head and held it down roughly. 

“Don’t tell me I’ve smacked all the sense out of you, princess? What did I just fucking say, huh?”

His words and his force - it was all far too much but equally just what you had been needing. There was something about letting go and not having the control that you so desperately yearned for that was so freeing - and now, with your head pinned and Eren ruthlessly smacking your ass, you had no choice but to submit to his cruelty and relish in the feeling of being used.

Slowly, he moved his hand to reach to the side of your face before tapping your lips in a way that asked for your permission to open up - to which, of course, you complied.

“Just a couple more, princess. Okay?” It had been a while by this point, your face was soaked with tears and your thighs were drenched in your own fluids. Your ass was red hot and growing hotter with every spank. “Just need you to tell me how sorry you are, otherwise I wont know if I can trust you to be good.”

Instantly, you replied - flooding his ears with sobbing pleas and continuous sorrys. He smirked and stopped his merciless attack on your ass before stroking the skin softly and affectionately. He lifted you up so that you sat on his lap and you winced slightly, resulting in a cunning grin forming on Eren’s lips.

You hadn’t been this wet all night, if Eren didn’t fuck you right now you thought you would lose your mind.

“Eren, I want you to fuck me.”

Raising an eyebrow at you, he sat you down next to him before standing up and looming over you - taking your cheek in his hand and forcing you to look up at him. “I don’t know about that.”

“I’ve waited all night, you can’t just-” 

“Yes I can.” He cut you off harshly and you stopped your sentence abruptly. He sighed like you were inconveniencing him. “I tell you what, if you beg me right now to fuck you - I will.”

You had already lost so much of your pride - you couldn’t lose anymore. He had gotten everything he wanted yet for some reason, after a single taste of greed, he wanted more. 

“I’m not going to beg you, Eren. You’ve gotten everything from me tonight - nobody is ever going to look at me the same again thanks to you. Isn’t that what you wanted? Now, you’ve ruined my reputation, the least you can do is fuck me hard enought that I forget about it.”

Eren’s features portrayed nothing other than irritation. He squeezed your chin tightly and you whimpered almost silently. “Who the fuck are you to be ordering me around? Either, you beg, or I leave. It’s entirely up to you, princess.”

You wanted it so bad. Nobody had ever made you feel the way Eren did. Nobody had ever crossed as many lines and tested you so much in a way that actually turned you on. He hadn’t even touched your pussy, yet you already know he know’s how to please it like he’d been fucking you for years.

But, at the end of the day, you couldn’t risk more than you had. You could spend the rest of your life daydreaming about how good Eren’s dick would feel pounding into you as you sat comfortably knowing you had manage to salvage whatever was left of your crumbling social status and build it back up again - or you could beg him to fuck you right now, and he would tell everyone about what a filthy slut you are who’s just desperate for his cock and your entire life would be in shambles. Who knows, maybe he wouldn’t even fuck you after you begged.

Taking your silence as an answer, Eren hums, before turning back around to unlock the door and reached for the handle.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d fuck you, and the two of you would then go about the rest of your lives peacefully knowing you didn’t turn down what would be the best sex of your life.

You craved him - it was Eren that freed every single one of your deepest and darkest fantasies from their cage and let you fulfill them. You needed him to.

“Wait.”

You had moved so swiftly from your seat and now your hand was covering his on the door handle. He didn’t turn to face you, he just waited for you to speak.

The feeling of your hand dragging itself down his body snapped him out of his stubbornness and made him turn to see what you were doing - only to be met with the sight of you on your knees as you parted your lips to speak.

“Please, Eren. I need you so fucking badly, please, I need you to use me and slap me around and hurt me because it feels so good. Nobody’s made me feel this fucking good before and I don’t understand why but I need you to help me Eren because I can’t take it. I can’t take it anymore, I need you so badly it hurts. Please. Please make me feel good, Eren. Please.” Your voice was laced with a tone of pathetic desperation that made Eren’s dick twitch in his pants.

Turning around fully, he looked down at the sight of your hands clawing at his pants as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Show me.” Eren demanded, his voice somehow lower than ever.

Without thinking twice, you began to unbuckle his belt and tugged down his pants - freeing his cock that was growing harder and more distressed with every second.

Shit - he was big. Bigger than you thought. Of course, you could kind of feel him when he was pressed up against you earlier or when you were bent over his lap - but you hadn’t imagined it was this large. Eren was amused by how impressed you seemed, but chose not to express it.

You started off by stroking the length slowly and kissing the tip before taking it in your mouth.

Eren hissed at the contact, his hand immediately moving to rest on top of your head. Already, you can hardly get enough of the addictive taste of his dick against your tongue and the way it’s drooling with precum.

He’s gritting his teeth, trying to stop himself from making too much noise and boosting your ego.

Yet, when his spongy tip hits the back of your throat he can’t help the groan that slips from his lips whilst your own are sucking him so perfectly - your tongue expertly moving around his length.

You bob your head up and down somewhat slowly, his dick being simply too hard to adjust to so quickly. 

Your soft, warm tongue was stroking his dick so nicely it was driving him insane, and as much as he could do this forever - there was only so much time before people began to get kicked out of the house and told to go home, and whilst Eren had no idea what the time was, he’d hate himself forever if he let this opportunity slip past his fingers.

The longer he was waiting for you to pick up your pace and quit teasing, the more impatient he was growing. He knew damn well what your mouth was capable of, but apparently no matter how much you ran it and how big that mouth of yours could be - his dick was far too much for it.

Eren considered it a gesture of helpfulness when he grabbed the back of your head and started thrusting viciously in and out of your mouth - the tip bulling the back of your throat as you gagged and choked yet showed no sign of resistance.

Theres saliva travelling down your chin and your slobbering all over his cock - it’s all so messy but none of that is on your mind. The only thing you can think of is showing him how much you need him. He makes you so pathetic that you’re shocked the mean bitch you were just a couple of hours ago ever even existed.

So pathetic, that when he moves his foot directly underneath him, you can’t help the overwhelming urge to grind down on his boot. You knew it was risky, you knew that there was a chance it would displease him but you could never stop yourself from acting without thinking things through properly. However, realistically, how were you supposed to think about anything when he was fucking every thought right out of your brain. 

You hoped that he was so consumed by his own pleasure that he wouldn’t have a problem with it - or preferably, that he wouldn’t even notice. Nevertheless, you grinded yourself down against his boot and moaned - the sound muffled by his cock yet the vibrations caused him to groan and his grip on your head grew harder.

It felt so good, the way your hips were dragging your pussy against his boot and giving you the stimulation you had been needing the entire night.

Your hands are gripping at his thighs for some sense of stability as you try to balance yourself whilst he fucks your throat raw and without any regard for yourself - his balls hitting your chin.

Sounds of gurgling and sucking dominated the entire room. It was all so lewd, from the noises the two of you were making to the fact that your hair was becoming a mess and you were drooling dumbly.

“Fuck- you’re such a slut, aren’t you? Doing all of this just so you can get dicked down - so fucking pathetic. I should have expected it from you.”

There are hot tears streaming down your cheeks but you aren’t anywhere near upset. Your makeup is no longer in tact, mascara painting your cheeks.

You can feel all of your senses going practically numb as he fucks them all out of you. You’re struggling to breathe but you’re entirely okay with it - you can barely even moan properly and you can feel the way he’s silently mocking you for it as he continues his brutal pace in your mouth.

Eren is entirely consumed by the pleasure - letting it take over him completely as he mutters out curses and groans deeply whilst keeping a tight grip on your head. He’s losing his mind from the delicious feeling of your mouth taking him so well.

However, he pulls out, evidently not wanting to finish just yet and theres a spark of hope within you that it means he’s convinced and that he’s going to fuck you.

“Shit- that was fuckin’ amazing, princess. Gonna cum all down your throat, next time.”

Next time? Your eyes widened and your heart clenched in excitement at the prospect of there being a next time.

Eren tucks himself back into his pants, that spark of hope dying a bit. He walks over to the bedside table where he placed something before. When he carried it back over to you, you recognised that it was a bottle of beer.

“You want a drink, sweet girl?”

You looked up immediately, wiping the drool of your chin, to see him swirling around the beer in the bottle. “Please…”

Eren smirked in satisfaction as he kneeled down to your level and took your chin in his hand. You tried to reach up for the bottle, but he moved it out of your reach whilst tutting disappointedly.

“Open wide.”

He poured the liquid into your mouth from high above your head, resulting in only some of it going into your mouth as you eagerly took as much as you could while a fraction of it dribbled down your chin and spilled down your breasts. 

He took the bottle away and brought his thumb up to wipe away some of the beer on your chin before slipping it into his own mouth and winking at you.

As he looked down at you, he noticed a wet spot on one of his boots and he raised an eyebrow at you. Shamefully, you turned away.

“Fuck, princess, that fuckin’ desperate are we?” he laughed, yet you couldn’t see the humour in it and there was a slight pout on your lips which was soon wiped away.

That singular spark of hope from before sets ablaze once he picks you up and tosses you on the bed in an instant - removing your shoes and starting on your fishnets and skirt.

Flipping you over so that your back is to him, he rips the wings from your back. “Your no angel, princess, I’ll tell you that.”

You could feel his voice against your neck before he started to suck and bite your neck.

He lifted up your top over your head so that you were now bare in front of him.

His hands were roaming everywhere yet his lips stayed on your neck as he kissed and bit your neck in a possessive manner - as though he was letting the entire world that you belonged to someone - that you weren’t just a slut, you were Eren’s slut.

To your dismay, he stood up from the bed. You turned yourself over to see what he was doing only to find yourself confused when he was rummaging through whoever’s wardrobe it belonged to.

Closing the wardrobe door, he turned to face you with a tie in his hand. Biting your lip, you tilted your head up at him in surprise. Laughing, you asked, “You really gonna tie me up with some stranger’s tie and then fuck me in their bed? And I’m the dirty slut.”

Eren laughed along with you, kneeling in front of you on the bed and forcing you to backup towards the headboard. “They won’t know.”

Taking your hands in a delicate grip, he tied them both together to the metal headboard. The knot was tight, so tight you figured you’d have a lot of trouble ever trying to get out of them without Eren’s help.

His lips hovered over yours for the first time before he pressed them together and plunged his tongue into your mouth - kissing you roughly.

He tasted incredible and his lips were so soft. For the first time, he was being properly gentle with you and he had no clue why.

This entire thing began as a revenge fantasy, so why was he all of a sudden feeling the need to handle you like you were glass. 

One of his hands slipped between your legs and began to play with your soaking pussy. “Shit, princess. So wet.” 

“I need you now, Eren.” You muttered against his lips, snapping him out of whatever daze your lips had put him in.

Bringing his hand back up, he quickly sucked the wetness from your pussy off his fingers and almost groaned at the taste.

Now, he was eager to be inside of you - longing for the feeling of your wet walls hugging his dick so tightly like he knew they would.

“Shit, princess. You think you can take me?” He mocked, a huge smirk plastered on his face and though typically you would have wanted to smack it right off, in that moment, all you could do was whine as you bucked your hips up needily.

He was practically folding your legs like a chair. Both of them rested on his shoulders as he leaned down to kiss your lips before pushing his rock hard cock inside of you. In sync, the two of you moaned at the sensation - and thought that initial pain from the stretch was apparent, so was the feeling of every single one of his veins and the slight curve of his dick.

Once he was fully in, he let you adjust for a moment as the two of you stayed in silence. Eren continued marking your throat as a form of restraining himself from pounding into you ferociously. 

Gradually, he started to slowly move in and out of you - and soon enough his cock was brutally hitting that spot within you that had you gasping and seeing stars.

His lips trailed down to your chest and took one of your nipples into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it as he pistoned his cock into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking you so roughly that all you could do was lay there and moan loudly - completely unaware of anything other than how his dick was making you feel.

Eren was mesmorised by the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tightly and deciding that he needed to see it. Removing his mouth from your nipple, he sat up and used his hands to keep both of your legs up as he watched the way your pussy hugged him so tightly, refusing to let him go.

“Should have know that all it would take was a bit of dick to get you this obedient and good. A bitch like you just needs some dick to put her in her place, ain’t that right, princess?”

His words were hardly registering in your mind, but just the sound of his voice had you whining and your pussy tightening around his dick, desperate for more.

You could feel every inch of his dick pounding into you and dragging ruthlessly against your walls, causing you to gasp and choke on your own moans.

With all of your effort, you took a deep breath before sputtering out a request. “Wanna- t-touch you, ‘ren, please-!”

He paused his bruising thrusts, and with such a speed you had never seen before undid the knot of the tie without any questions - he simply just did as you had asked like he needed you to touch him as well before going back to pummeling his cock in and out of you.

Your hands went to grasp at his back, clawing at the flesh in an attempt to seize some sort of control. Your fingernails were leaving scratched in their places as they dragged down his back which only had Eren groaning at the painful feeling as he picked up his pace and somehow went impossibly faster and more rough.

“Such a whore, and all for me as well. Nobody else gets to see you like this, not anymore. You’re all mine now, princess. Do you hear me?”

You nodded frantically in response, unable to form any coherent words other than curses and chants of his name. 

The idea of being just his brought you so close to your orgasm. The idea of being able to have his dick inside of you, making you feel this good, whenever you wanted and all you had to do was just be a bit of a brat (which you were amazing at).

Noticing that you were getting closer, due to the fact that your pussy was only getting tighter around his dick and he didn’t think he’d be able to hold on much longer, his hand reached down to play with your pulsating clit in hopes that you’d be able to finish with him. He kissed your face and your lips and stared at you with adoration filling his eyes.

Everything was becoming so much. You were filled to the brim with Eren’s large dick, and the way his skillful fingers were toying with you so effortlessly despite how clouded he was with pleasure made you feel incredible.

“I’m g’nna fill you up with my cum. Shit, I need to see this pussy full with my cum, is that okay, princess?”

You let out a noise of approval as you nodded which was all Eren needed before he finished inside of you and the feeling along with the knowledge of how it was you that he was finishing inside of caused you to reach your high as well.

Eren continued to thrust his dick in and out of you through both of your orgasms as you came in sync. His lips found yours - completely infatuated with the way your lips felt against his and the way you tasted on his tongue.

When Eren pulled out, he was enthralled by the sight of his cum spilling out of your hot pussy as he smirked and used one of his fingers to push what he could back inside of you.

“God, you’re so fucking hot, princess. I’m fuckin’ keeping you, do you hear me? No more of that dare shit - you’re mine permanantly.”

Breathlessly, you replied. “‘M all yours, Eren. Just fuck me like that more often, okay?”

note: it's almost 2am, the ending is rushed and I have college in the morning so i apologise if there are any mistakes. i needed to get this out before I drove myself insane.

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sucker punch (m) — sae itoshi

in the pivotal moments leading up to the most significant fight of his career against his estranged younger brother, sae meets a girl who turns his entire world upside down

warnings:- underground fighter!sae, fem!reader, heiress!reader, reader is coded to be feminine (wears dresses, makeup, heels, etc), language, cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, unprotected sex, cowgirl, rough sex, petnames (princess, whore, slut, daddy's girl), choking, power play between sae and reader, degradation, sae is an ass towards reader

✯ chapter 1

Sae didn’t believe in love. 

Growing up in a harsh part of Tokyo where he had to fend for himself and his little brother, Rin, gave him an understanding that the world was a cruel place. Yet even crueller were the promises of a happy ending he read in crumpled up paperbacks the old bookstore down his apartment would throw out after it started to yellow. 

It was always the love stories that rarely got sold. 

Boy meets girl, they fall in love, they fight, they reunite and they live—

“Happily ever after,” Oliver’s voice slammed him out of his reverie. Those heterochromatic eyes prodded him when his silence got too loud. 

“Sae, were you even listening to what I just said?” 

The younger man slid his apathetic teal eyes to his comrade and friend. He gave a noncommittal shrug.

Aiku sighed. His frustration was threatening to boil over. It would be a month till the U20’s biggest match against Blue Lock and their starfighter was a million miles away. 

“I said: We can try the underhanded tactic to bring either Isagi or Rin down and then go for the throat. The money will be ours and we can make enough bank to last us for a year. Neither of us have to fight again. That will be our happily ever after.”

Sae was tired of listening to miracles. He stood up abruptly and nodded. 

“Whatever. I’m heading home now.” 

Aiku didn’t stop him from leaving, and neither did their other comrades.

Shouldering his heavy parka onto his sore shoulders, Sae stalked out of the U20 facility and to his car. The interior stank of takeout, sweat and the tinny rust of blood. He gunned the engine, but it faltered. Cursing under his breath, he tried again. And again. 

But, the stupid engine refused to start.

Contemplating if he should just push the damn car back to his apartment, he almost missed a soft voice clearing her throat.

“Do you need help, sir?” 

Sae was about to retort that he had it under control and she should mind her own business, when he caught sight of you. 

Dressed in a simple, beige A-line piece that showed off your legs and arms, a chain dangling from your neck and a pair of sunglasses perched on your head, you were the picture of quiet elegance. The fancy clothing couldn’t contain the humble appearance of your smile when you motioned to his car. 

“I have a pair of jumpstart cables. You could borrow them.” He still hadn’t responded to you. “If you want,” you added hastily, not wanting to seem pushy. 

Sae blinked. His silence stretched on without an intermission. 

You faltered and let your embarrassment swallow you whole. In hindsight, Sae found it adorable how you flushed and stuttered like you wished your entire existence would melt away just from his unresponsiveness. 

“Sure. That would be great.” After a beat of hesitation, he added a word which seemed foreign coming from his rough and rude tongue. “Thanks.” 

This should be the part of the story where boy meets girl. 

Sae jump started his car with your help, and as a treat for your kindness, he invited you to a late night izakaya selling his favourite kombu ramen. You were a stranger passing by, someone from the upper end side of Tokyo who noticed him struggling and decided to help.

You told him you knew what it was like to struggle and not be aided. Sae wondered what you could’ve possibly meant when he caught sight of the signet ring on your right hand. A mark of an elite.

He straightened, unintentionally freezing over. You didn’t know him; didn’t know that he was one of the men your world employed as free entertainment for nights when they craved a hit of violence. The both of you were as different as day and night.

“So, what do you do for a living?” you had asked him. 

Sae decided to tell you a lie. “I’m a blue collar worker. Delivering stuff.”

“Oh.” You took a look at the finished bowls and beers, the order sheet at the edge of the table. As if understanding what you were planning to do, Sae snatched the bill right in front of your extended hand. He couldn’t resist the small smirk decorating his face when you started to huff and pout.

“My treat,” he murmured, removing his battered wallet from inside his pant’s pocket. “And then we’re even.”

Except, he never did want to draw a tie or cut them off with you. 

Sae studied your car number plate, memorising it and used some of his connections to dig up more information about you. 

He didn’t have to look far. 

Your family were well-known as some of Blue Lock’s biggest sponsors, a direct rival of the U20 faction. Born from a history of blood and violence, your grandfather had been the first pioneer of a fight club that eventually changed the trajectory of his and many other poor men’s lives. As the money poured in, so did the promise of more extortion and exploitation.

Sae reasoned that he should’ve hated you. After all, you were partly the reason why he had to fight for a living.

But, he was intrigued by you. Your gentleness, your humble disposition. 

You were a rare jewel he had to unearth. 

One day, out of the serendipitous blue, life seemed to listen to his wishes and granted him a rare glimpse into your world.

As one of the rising Platinum fighters who everyone could bet on, Sae was invited to a networking gala hosted by none other than Ego Jinpachi himself. A raging egoist of a man who held his fighter’s lives in his palms like a deranged puppeteer, Sae found himself sitting opposite Rin and his bloodthirsty mentor.

Such a sight would not be unsettling.

As two opposite ends of the fighting arena’s spectrum, Sae and Rin drew lots of attention from potential investors.

The story of two brothers, once tightly knitted and now estranged only to eventually meet in the ring as opponents one day, was a huge investment factor. Filthy rich men with more money than God flocked to both Aiku and Ego to have a hand in orchestrating one of the biggest, historical fights in all of Tokyo’s history.

And tonight, Sae had to face each of them, wondering who would be the one to bolster up his gear or bet on whether he would emerge victorious against his brother. On the opposite side of the table, Rin was detached and uninterested. 

Both brothers barely said a word to each other all night; didn’t even glance at the other from across the table.

This apparently caused quite a stir with the investors who were taken by their stone cold treatment of one another. 

It’s a tragedy, isn’t it? To face one’s own blood in a ring and fight to spill it? 

Sae felt his brow twitch, and the room was starting to cave in. He needed to leave for some air or he would lunge across the table and sock these lofty motherfuckers right in their faces. 

The garden was a work of art designed by Ego’s careful hands. After stumbling out of the mansion’s door, he tried to hide himself behind a hedge, staring up at the starless sky as his heart continued pounding in his chest. Sae fully expected to be alone, and not to find a familiar face outside just a few feet from him, nor for you to still recognise him despite the slicked back hair and fancy suit.

“Sae,” you smiled, red lips parted to reveal a row of perfect teeth. You put out your cigarette into a Roman pillar column, leaving a halo of ash and a burnt skid on the otherwise pristine concrete. Sae thought it was rather rebellious of you to do that. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

Tipping your head to the side, you studied him. His flushed cheeks, tight lips. 

“I thought you said you were a blue collar worker?” 

He decided to come clean, spitting out the truth in equal parts aggression and apathy. 

“I’m an underground fighter.”

The auburn-haired man fully expected you to crinkle your expression in disgust. Not nodding in understanding. 

“I figured. Most blue collar workers don’t have bruised knuckles.” 

Unconsciously, he tightened his fists, feeling the callouses and the split skin stretching across his knuckles. “If you knew who I was, then why didn’t you say something?” 

Why didn’t you leave? 

Rich girls like you had no use for men like him. He was a stain under your shoe, a man with a God complex high off a violent occupation with no God in sight. But, you only smiled at his question. 

“You didn’t fawn over me even when you noticed my ring. I like that.” 

Somehow, you had gotten close enough for him to smell the vanilla from your hair. Sae tipped his head back, turning his gaze to the side; the action pressing him deeper against the brambly hedge walls. “Whatever you think will happen tonight will not happen.” 

He pretended like his heart didn’t skip a beat when you reached for his hand, so much rougher compared to your soft ones. You circled your thumb over the bruise on his palm, increasing the pressure till he felt the wound throb. 

“Stop that.” But, he didn’t pull his hand away. 

You grinned. “What do you think will happen tonight, Sae?” 

His handsome, arrogant face broke out into a sneer. “Just because you order men like me around every single damn day doesn’t mean I have to give into your whims, princess.” He wrenched his hand from yours, trying to ignore how much your touch singed his skin. “And don’t ever touch me again.” 

Brushing off your crestfallen expression, he strode back into the mansion, feeling more breathless than when he abandoned the suffocating room full of investors and back-talk about his skills. Rin had left a few minutes after he had, and with his little brother out of the room, he could finally relax. 

Except, you chose this moment to enter the same room. 

Immediately, everyone stood up. 

“L/N-san. Welcome.” 

You weren’t the teasing, sweet girl in the garden anymore. Instead, you wore a look of fabricated disinterest, roaming your eyes over every single man. Lingering your searing gaze on his own wide ones before turning to Ego. 

“My father sent me here as a representative. Now, which star player do you recommend I speak to first?” 

Everyone started to clamour, calling for your attention like dogs scraping at their master’s legs for the last bone. 

Eventually, Aiku was the one who cleared his throat loud enough to get the entire room’s attention. Through the hazy tobacco smoke, he cut a handsome figure in his suit, languidly rising to his feet and gesturing at Sae.

“L/N-san, Itoshi Sae is one of U20's undefeatable players. A 6-streak win and low possibility of injuries. A prodigy. You should speak to him first, miss.” 

Sae felt like you were analysing him through his suit. 

After a beat of tension, you nodded. “Fine. Send him up to my private room.” 

You turned and left. Sae stood up, hesitantly casting his gaze to a triumphant Aiku. 

“Are you sure she is the richest one out of these assholes?” he murmured under his breath. 

Oliver chuckled.

“The richest. With her backing, we’re practically golden. Now, go and woo her. You’ll do great.” 

Straightening his tie, Aiku sent him off with a wink. Unlike the atmosphere at the garden, this time, Sae was aware he had to be on his best behaviour—which was a challenge considering he had already rudely brushed off a potential investor. 

Fuck, he swore internally. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Why had he been so brash with you?

There was no use in crying over lost chances. He had to man up and knock on the door to your office—face you when he had already insulted you right in the face.

Sae braced his hand on the red oak, breathing in deeply. Here goes nothing. He knocked three times. 

“Come in.” 

You were sitting on a sofa, legs crossed and expression neutral. Not once did you give him a look like you were hurt from his rejection in the garden. Instead, you stood up, gaze cold and faraway. 

“So. You’re the prodigy, hmm?” 

Sae kept his eyes lowered, not touching yours. “Yes.” 

You patted the sofa seat next to you, gesturing for him to come over. “Sit. We have a lot to discuss.”

Gingerly, he sat down on the other end of the sofa, putting enough distance between the two of you not to make things any more awkward than it already was. 

The silence dragged on. Sae stared at the fireplace—the flickering embers throwing lengthening shadows around the room. He counted the cadence of your breath; discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his expensive slacks.

You broke the silence first with an airy giggle. 

“I had no idea I was speaking to such a talented young man.” 

He looked up and caught the barest hint of a smirk on your pretty lips. Swallowing his dry throat, Sae croaked, “And I had no idea you were… influential.” 

You chuckled, placing your hands on your demurely on your lap. “It’s not me. It’s my father. I’m just his representative. You see, he’s currently bed bound from an injury and doesn’t have any sons so it’s up to me to oversee his work.” 

Sae responded to your words with a heartfelt nod, wishing he could turn back the time and slap his old self from pissing off a very powerful investor (and a very beautiful woman). 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” 

Glancing at him up and down, you chuckled. “I guess we’re at an impasse here. And to think I nearly committed indecency by proposing you come back to my place.” 

The memory of your hand in his sparked like a flame in his mind, burning his skin. 

“Yes. To think we could’ve done something like that.” 

Your eyes lowered to his hands. His pretty teal gaze flickered to your exposed throat. 

“It would be horrible.” Your foot brushed his knee. Sae tightened his hands into fists. 

Despite the warning bells going off in his head, he relapsed back into his impulsivity, letting it taint his next move with his debilitating habit of never saying no to danger.  

“Disgusting,” he retorted, smoothly playing your game. 

You gasped, low and quick, when he stretched his hand out to graze your bare shin. He almost smiled at your eagerness. 

Pretty rich Daddy’s girl with not a shred of self-preservation in her…

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you mumbled, uncrossing your legs and inching closer to him. 

“We shouldn’t,” he confirmed, gruff and sure, but his body was betraying him; moving to meet you in the middle of this wide sofa. 

There was something mesmerising about your eyes and face. It entranced him, kept him hooked on the curve of your profile and those alluring lips. 

Your breath brushed his cheek, warm and inviting. “It would cause a scandal.” 

Sae curled his palm over your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “It would.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb. Such a simple gesture made a thrill of electricity run up his spine, painfully shocking him to the heat pooling right in his groin.

“People will talk.” 

He was growing tired of this lame cat and mouse game. Moving closer, he bridged the gap, resting his large palm on your lower back to nudge you not-so-gently onto his lap. The weight of you felt familiar—right. This close, your scent of vanilla was stronger, nearly overpowering him. 

Before his lips brushed yours with an intensity that nearly made you dizzy with lust, he mumbled: 

“Let them.”

“Sae,” you mewled, nails stabbing into his fleshy biceps. 

He had you pressed against your own bedroom door, creaming right on his cock like the perfect little whore you were. Your makeup was ruined, red lipstick smudged and eyeliner crinkled in the corners. 

You had let him push your dress to the side, your panties ripped and in tatters on the floor. Sae was quick to fuck you the moment you gave him the green light to, and like the scrappy underground fighter he was, he never missed out on seizing a golden opening. 

Your thighs were trembling around his waist, struggling to hold yourself up right. Sae’s mouth devoured your weak mewls, and you let him paw at your covered breasts, ripping the dress down to expose your stiff, bare peaks. 

“No bra?” He murmured into the heat of your mouth.

You shook your head, a breathless laugh tumbling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I—mhm—don’t like to wear one.” 

“In a room with the other men…” Sae trailed off, a frightening flash of jealousy igniting his veins. The thought of any other man seeing those perfectly suckable nipples even through the silky hint of your dress made him want to break their teeth.

His growl reverberated against your throat, and you were thrown onto the bed, his larger frame crowding you into the sheets.

Sae hitched your thighs up to his shoulders, those teal eyes alight with feral lust.

“Slut.” He slid his cock back into your throbbing depths the second that degrading pet name slipped out of his mouth. “Whore. You could’ve shown them what was mine—what belongs to me.”

He bunched your cocktail dress out of the way, exposing your tits and pussy right into the cold air of your stuffy bedroom.

“Mhmf,” your eyes rolled back into your head. You were panting, bullets of sweat dripping down your face. “I-I belong to you? Says who?” 

The Prodigy nearly broke the headboard into two when he slammed into you, hard enough for the entire bed to shake. Your squeal rebounded across the room, sparking his filthy satisfaction.

“Me,” he growled breathlessly. “I said it. You belong to me.” 

Curling one hand possessively around your throat, the sloppy sounds of your two sexes meeting together sent him on a hazy high. Those teal eyes were glazed over, the broad muscles on his back twisting and flexing with every thrust into your tight, welcoming heat. 

Sae was careful not to choke you too hard, but hard enough for your mouth to fall slack, pathetic whines and drool slipping past your slick lips. 

Your toes were curled tightly in his periphery, one hand in between your legs to frantically rub your clit.

“Fucking whore,” he grunted, trying not to swoon at how pretty your sweat-covered skin looked like in the dim moonlight. “Daddy’s girl taking this dick like a champ.”

“Sae,” you dragged out his name. Ending it with a choke.

Sae felt your walls rippling around his cock, and he wasted no time in diving headfirst in between your cleavage to nip and suck at your plush fat; nursing on your nipples like a man close to starvation.

You seized, back arching and he felt those perfect velvet walls choke on his dick. Squeezing down on him.

“Cumming for me already?” He spoke in between harsh exhales. “Fuck. Fuck. This pussy is fucking perfect. I want you to cum for me—only for me. Do it, Y/N. Milk this cock, Princess. Let me fucking fill you up—fuck.” His choked moan made you see stars; the hand around your throat was now gripping your hair, forcing your feverish lips onto his. 

You practically ripped at his dress shirt, tearing two buttons off to scratch down his chest. Animalistic whines and low grunts filled the heated space between both your mouths. Sae tasted like champagne and regrets, his tongue lapping right at your teeth. 

With one last hard thrust, you broke around his cock, triggering his warmth to fill you up. 

Sae slumped onto you, and you dug your heels into the band of his slacks, pushing it further down his toned thighs to expose the rise of his firm ass to your wandering eye.

Your nails bit into the plush globes, raking down his thighs. You played with his balls, squeezing on them lightly to take every drop. Unable to resist taking all of him however you could. 

Sae smeared hot kisses down your throat, on your jaw and across your heaving mouth; completely smitten by how cockhungry you were. 

The both of you sat in the filth of your mutual mistake, stewing in the greasy silence until you nudged his shoulder. The look in your eyes was glorious; an opponent about to make her next move. Usually, he would push back—never surrender.

But, something locked his muscles in place, keeping him focused on the rise of your shoulders—the dip of your collarbone painted in his hickies. 

He let you push him back onto the bed, watching intently as you ripped the expensive dress right off your frame, gesturing to his still clothed torso.

“Take it off. Let me see you.” 

Like the obedient fighter he was, Sae unbuttoned his white dress shirt, letting it melt off his broad frame and onto the floor. Scars littered his milky pale skin, catching your curiosity. He silently observed as you straddled his thighs, working his cock back to half-mast with your much smaller fingers. All the while your other hand never stopped caressing his broad pecs and chest; tracing his scars. 

Sae didn’t know what possessed him to sit still and watch you. 

It was like seeing a painting coming to life; the remorse which melted into determination right in your fiery eyes. 

He let you sink down his cock, bracing your palms right on his shoulders. You bucked your hips slowly, grinding down on him with a painful passion; almost like you were afraid of making any sudden movement.

Sae found his large palms slotting perfectly on your hips, holding you right in place. 

Pleasure unfurled itself down your body, bending your spine back. It soused across your face, turning your determined stare hazy. You locked eyes with him, and he didn’t dare look away. 

“Feels so good,” you managed to pant. “Your cock feels so good.” 

He undulated his hips upward, instinct pushing him to surge towards the opening of your cervix. “Yeah?” he almost growled. “Can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself—you’re such an eager slut.”

Despite you being on top of him, Sae was still in charge. He clamped a hand around your throat; yanked on your hair until your neck snapped back and your cry bounced across the room. 

“Ride me,” he spat and then licked his lips. “Prove to me that good whores deserve to cum. Make me proud, baby.” 

Sae was entranced; unable to tear his eyes away from your pussy leaving milky rings of cream around his cock. 

“Mhm,” you tearfully whined. “Yes, yes! I wanna make you proud—wanna make you cum again.”

A thick arm swept you to his chest, muffling your cries right into his throat. Sae bit down on the tender juncture between your neck and shoulder, bucking his hips up into you with enough ferocity to nearly throttle you off the bed. 

“Fuck—” he snarled, grabbing at every inch of your skin; spanking your ass, groping it, raking his nails down your back. 

Doing everything he could to get you melting for him. 

“Give it to me, baby.” Not an order; but a desperate plea. “Cum for me—make me cum. Pretty girl. Pretty baby—g-gonna make me lose my mind—” 

“I’m cumming!” Your hitched gasp rang loudly in his ear, like an explosion of joyous surrender. “S-Sae, I-I’m—” 

Your walls rippled around him for the second time tonight, and for the first time ever, Sae found a new rush in his life that wasn’t centred around bruised knuckles and split, bloody teeth. 

He welcomed it—that surge of crazed passion, so different from when he was about to snuff a man’s life out with his bare hands. Felt it twist his bones, break his soul. 

The world exploded in a white ball of heat again, right into the depths of your body, his heart shattering into dust. 

Sae tasted your honeyed whisper of his name on his tongue, felt your tears stain his throat. 

He held onto you as tightly as he could, afraid that if he opened his eyes, he might find himself back in the ring, the glaring lights forcing your smile from his memory.

But, the jeers and cheers never came. The bell never rang. 

It was the sweetest fight he had ever lost. 

This was the part of the story Itoshi Sae never expected. 

Sae never had a home. His old apartment was recalled back by a shitty landlord who didn’t care about two orphans trying to stay afloat with what little money their dead parents had left them. When social services had taken Rin away, they tried to get him, too, but he was faster. 

Swiftly escaping out the window, Sae recalled nothing else but memories of wet underground passageways, nights rummaging through garbage bins and saddling up to the closest homeless community for warmth and company. 

Eventually, he met Aiku and everything else that transpired before he became The Prodigy was history. 

Fighting was all he had ever known. Violence and terror were all familiar flavours on his tongue. 

But tonight, in your sheets, Sae found another sensation creeping up his unsuspecting body that he could not quite name. It was sticky and hot, curling down his spine like a languid rush of lava to pool somewhere deep in his chest when he took in the sight of your pussy wrapped around his cock. 

He fucked you deep and hard, like he was trying to erase that sensation. But, you brought it back to the surface with your fingers in his hair, your lips on his and the sweet moans of his name brushing his hot ears. 

Where it was easy to repress his entire soul away from the world, Sae struggled to keep his emotions in a tightly shut jar under your gentle attention. 

Sae never believed in love; never believed in someone else’s goodness long enough to be confident in his own grace. But, he supposes that tonight’s encounter with you was the closest to love he could ever get. 

You let him stay the night, comfortable with him warming your sheets. Sae spent the entire sunrise staring at your face, memorising the curve of your nose and cheeks. That strange sensation was back again, this time stirring him to brush a piece of hair from your temple. 

But, like every good love story, it would not be the same without personal demons haunting every sentence. 

Sae wasn’t good for you; he knew that. You were a whole station above him, impervious and untouchable. 

Unlike fighting, there was no prize in the arena of love. No fame, no glory. 

Sae wasn’t sure what would be at the end of this chapter, and a part of him, the scared little boy who had been abandoned by forces beyond his control, didn’t want to stay to find out. 

Nothing good would come out of this if he pursued a story that he didn’t know an end to. 

The morning after, he had vanished, and you woke up alone in this too big apartment; smell of cedar and oranges still lining your blankets. 

Like it was a dream or a memory you could not quite shake off, you wandered down the halls, rustling every corner to find a shred of the man you had trusted enough to let into your inner world. But, he hadn’t stayed long enough to give your world any colour. 

The cold walls adorned with art your father had personally picked out for this apartment didn’t reflect your taste or your fondness as you stared at them, hard coals for eyes. The picture in front of you was of a woman, running free in a grassy sea. Above her, a weak sun shone down, illuminating her golden hair. 

Monet must’ve been the inspiration for this work, and though the French painter was known for his art that brought a sense of peace to the viewers, this particular one did not inspire the same notion. Perhaps it was the clinical wall it was attached to, or the furniture surrounding it that did not give off the warmth a serene painting like this was supposed to emote.

Whatever it was, you didn’t dwell on it long; turning on your heel and stomping back to your orange-cedar scented sheets, trying to ignore the pathetic ache in your heart which echoed the indent on the empty side of your bed.

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

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tw - non/con, manipulation, mentions of breeding, and unbalanced power dynamics.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's ecstatic the day his owner, Suguru, brings you home. He's the pinnacle of a spoiled pet, constantly showered in toys and treats and affection, but his owner's a busy man, and he tends to sulk when left home alone. He's had other companions before, another leopard hybrid who nearly killed him before being released back into the wild and a black panther who somehow proved to be a worse influence on Satoru than Satoru was on her, but you're supposed to be more permanent solution, another hosuepet to keep him company when Suguru can't. You're a sweet little housecat, all wide-eyes and raised ears, but still, Suguru wouldn't be surprised if you're begging to go back to the shelter less than an hour after meeting your new roommate.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who falls in love with you immediately. Suguru practically has to keep him in a chokehold while you explore your new home, eventually curling up on your new bed. Satoru's on top of you as soon as he gets loose, purring obnoxiously while he runs his bristled tongue over your cheek. Suguru's half-convinced that your first day's going to end with bloody claws and bandages, but you only nuzzle into his chest and knead at the blankets underneath you. Satoru's a difficult cat to put up with, and Suguru's relieved that you, at least, find him tolerable.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's absolutely massive compared to you. The tips of your pointed ears barely reach his collarbones, and your wrist is only as thick as his fluffy tail. His favorite hobby quickly becomes carrying you from room to room despite your softly mewled protests, and he's not happy unless he's pressed against you as closely as possible. He used to force himself into Suguru's lap whenever possible, but now, he's unbearable unless you're sitting pretty in his. He doesn't even complain when you lose your temper and dig your little fangs (barely half the size of his - a poor imitation of a real predator's) into his arm, just grinning as he tugs at your ears and pinches your cheeks. He's not exactly a wild animal, but he's still at the top of his food chain. You're not quite a mouse, but you might as well be, compared to him.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's calling you his mate after less than a full month. You don't know what it means, often parroting it back as more of a question than a term of endearment, and Suguru just brushes it off as Satoru being deliberately irritating. He keeps it up, though. even after you start refusing to respond to it.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who starts introducing you to new "games". You know you don't stand a chance against him, but somehow, he always manages to goad you into roughhousing, into squirming as he pins you under his full weight. He likes to dangle things above your head, to see how long it takes your instincts to get the best of you before your chest is pressed against his and you're pouting so adorably as you jump and bat at his hand. Sometimes, when you fall asleep mid-grooming session, he'll let his mouth wander lower than it should, and you'll wake up to his tongue lapping over your chest, his face buried between your thighs in a way that leaves you teary-eyed and warm. You've tried to tell Suguru, but you always get embarrassed and end up mumbling something as vague as 'Satoru's being mean to me, again.' In the end, Satoru only ever gets a slap on the wrist and a new reason to tease you, next time Suguru turns his back.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who fucks you whenever Suguru isn't home. He planned on waiting for your first heat (delayed by your shelter suppressants and the stress of a new home), and he knows he's not supposed to, but he just can't get enough of having your smaller body curled up underneath his, your tail thrashing from side to side as he lazily rolls his hips against yours. You tend to whine, at first, to go on and on about how weird it feels and how much it hurts, but as soon he gets his cock inside of you, all those complaints tend to go away. It's almost funny, how easily your stupid little kitty mind gets all hazy and cockdrunk. He always loves you, but he loves you most when you're drooling and purring for his cum, begging him to breed you properly between hitched moans.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's not even mad when Suguru catches him bouncing your half-conscious, fucked-out body on his cock. He wants to be the best possible mate for you, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't willing to show you off <3

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