Title: Idolification.

Title: Idolification.

Pairing: Yandere!Itadori Yuuji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: No Curse/College AU, Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Stalking, (Unintentional) Emotional Manipulation, Oral Sex, Drunk Sex, Unprotected Sex, Age Gap (Reader's 27, Yuuji's 22), Intimidation, Brief Mommy Kink, Pepper Spray, and Obsessive Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

“I’m so, so, so, so sorry.”

“It was an accident, you don’t have to—” Yuuji was cut off by another splash of milk, quickly followed by another jet of water. Her makeshift treatment was harsh, the temperature alternating unpredictably between ice cold and scalding hot, but Yuuji took the abuse with a smile that was almost bright enough to distract you from the red, aggravated skin around his eyes. Almost. “It’s alright,” he managed, eventually, doing his best not to sound like he was being slowly drowned in your bathtub. “Believe it or not, that’s only the second worst thing I’ve gotten in my eyes.”

Knowing him, it was probably closer to the fourth or fifth, but that did little to ease your guilt. He’d been leaving as you were getting home from your second twelve-hour shift of the week, and from there, it’d been a comedy of errors. He spotted you coming down the hall, haggard and bleary-eyed, and saw the babysitter who’d spent more summers than not keeping him (and, by association, his older half-brother) out of trouble before their family fell off of the face of the planet, and reacted the way Yuuji reacted to most things – with open arms and a contagious smile. You’d looked at him, a far cry from the kid you’d spent so much time looking after, and seen a very strange, very grown man loitering outside of the door to your shoebox of an apartment before charging towards you with a manic expression and, well, you had always wanted an excuse to use the pepper spray you carried near-religiously. It was only a shame it had to be on someone as sweet as Yuuji.

Now, you were on your knees on the floor of your bathroom, your fingers tangled in Yuuji’s hair as your roommate gently waterboarded him with a cartoon of organic oat milk in one hand and your decade-old showerhead in the other. The front of his t-shirt was soaked through, his lung half-flooded at least, but he was still grinning like you’d greeted him with a blank check and a litter of puppies. “Honestly, it’s on me,” he insisted, his enthusiasm too potent not to be genuine. “Miss Shoko mentioned she was living with someone.”

At the mention of your roommate, Shoko Ieiri, your attention shifted to the woman in-question. You weren’t an idiot. After the shock died down, it hadn’t taken long for you to piece together why a young man would be rushing to get out of your apartment while your attractive (albeit, socially dead) roommate was home alone. When she met your prying eyes, you shot her a pointed glare. “Cradle rocker.”

She threatened to turn the showerhead on you, but relented as soon as you flinched away. “He’s in one of my classes,” she muttered, then pushed herself to her feet with a soft groan. “We’re out of milk,” she said, shaking the empty carton. “Let his eyes air-dry. I’ll be in my office – come get me if he starts crying again.”

“I’m a doctor too, y’know.”

“You’ll be a doctor in another year. Right now, you’re an intern.” She eyed Yuuji wearily. “An intern who physically assaults her patients, at that.”

Without any real way to retort, you stuck your tongue out – a gesture Shoko mimicked as she slipped out of the crime scene that was your bathroom. Despite Shoko’s advice, you fished a towel off the nearest rack and handed it to Yuuji, who accepted it with a grateful hum. “I really am sorry,” you repeated, burying your face in your hands. “It’s just, it’s been so long, and you look so different, and god, it’s been—”

“—ten years,” Yuuji filled in, probably tired of hearing you repeat the same two excuses. “I remember, ‘cuz you invited us to your graduation that year. I wanted to go, too, but Gramps got sick and…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with an airy chuckle. “You know how it is.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “I loved your grandfather. How is he?”

Yuuji’s smile wavered for the first time. “He passed, actually. A few years ago.”

Fuck.

If the building was going to collapse and bury you in the rubble, that would’ve been the time.

“Sukuna’s doing good, though,” Yuuji went on, kind enough to pretend there hadn’t been a lapse. “He opened a restaurant a few months ago. It’s a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but it’s been keeping him out of the ring.” His expression brightened. “And you’re a doctor! I mean, I knew you would be, but you’re a doctor!”

You felt your face heat up his brother’s name, your eyes falling to the tiled floor. “Almost a doctor. I just started my internship.” And they’d already managed to work you half to death. “You’re in med school, right? Shoko never teaches undergrad.”

“It’s my first semester,” he said with a slight laugh. “It’s harder than I thought it’d be, though. Miss Shoko offered to give me a few pointers, but, y’know—” He sighed, let his head lull back. “I’m starting to think I’m just not smart enough for stuff like this.”

“You shouldn’t say that kind of thing about yourself. You’ve always been—” You cut yourself off with a sudden gasp, clapping your hands together. “If you’re struggling, let me help you study! I have tomorrow off, and I promise, I’m not as strict as Shoko.”

Immediately, he straightened up, your towel still strung around his neck and his smile returned to its full brightness. It only dimmed slightly when he glanced down at his damp shirt. “…there won’t be as much pepper spray this time, right?”

His smile was as contagious as it’d been when he was still a kid, begging you to let him stay up yet another hour past his already-lenient bedtime. Despite his bloodshot eyes and your lingering, only slightly lessened guilt, you found yourself biting back a grin.  

“No pepper spray, this time. I promise.”

~

“Room for one more?”

She glanced over her shoulder as you struggled past the jammed sliding door, taking a moment to evaluate your stiff shoulders and strained smile over the thick frames of her glasses before nodding curtly. Your relief was immediate and all-encompassing. Honestly, you should’ve known better than to do anything but shake your head and flee the country when Yuuji invited you to hang out with a few of his friends, but he’d sworn up and down that it wasn’t a party and promised that you wouldn’t be out of place and pouted in a way you’d never been able to resist. You were starting to think that, no matter how old you got, you’d never learn to say ‘no’ to Yuuji.

The blaring music was only vaguely muffled by the glass, the blurry outlines of other guests playing behind thin curtains. There was a red solo cup in your hand, a lipstick stain on your cheek from a girl who’d passed out half an hour ago, but you were hyper-aware that you were too old to be at a college party with people at least half a decade younger than you, in the best cases. You braced yourself against the balcony railing with a soft groan, crossing your arms and hanging your head low enough to warrant a hum of sympathy from the woman next to you. She held up a box of cigarettes – the cheap kind you and Shoko used to split on the days you had to decide between food and rent – and you accepted her offer with the kind of gratitude you could only assume a starving lion would’ve shown to a limping gazelle.

“Maki,” she said, shaking one into your open palm and fishing a lighter out of her pocket. “You’re one of Itadori’s friends?”

“You could say that.” You let her light you up before taking a shaky drag, the bitter taste a welcome distraction. “I’ve been tutoring him for a few weeks. I think he just invited me as a way to say ‘thank you’.”

Her eyes flashed with recognition, the corner of his lips turning upward for the first time. “You’re the chick who used to babysit him. (Y/n), right?”

“He’s mentioned me?”

“He won’t shut up about you. Every other word out of his mouth is ‘(Y/n) this’ or ‘(Y//n) that’.” She tapped her cigarette against the edge of the railing, sending a few flakes of ash fluttering down to the street below. “Megumi gets it the worst, but we’ve all had to see the fucking pictures.”

“That… that sounds like him.” You forced out a half-hearted laugh, then wavered. “I’m sorry, pictures?”

Maki opened her mouth, but the balcony door was jerked open before she could respond. Yuji appeared in the open entryway, cheeks flushed and grin wide. He drawled your name in a single slur before moving on to more important topics. “We found a—We found a karaoke machine! ‘gumi thinks he can get it running!”

You sent Maki an apologetic look, but she only shrugged, a sliver of a grin. “Better get him tucked in.”

This time, when you smiled back, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

~

It took a month for Yuuji to start ‘forgetting’ his textbooks when he came over for your little study sessions.

It took three for Yuuji to drop the pretense of studying at all – calling you out to some late-night diner or lethargic early-morning café or, better yet, showing up at your apartment door unannounced and empty-handed with only that unnerving smile and a half-baked excuse to spend time with you.

It took six for his hand to drift just a little lower than your shoulder while you watched some awful, b-rated horror movie on your well-beaten couch. You let him reach your waist before clearing your throat and shifting away, your smile pained.

“I… I think you should probably leave,” you half-mumbled, your voice shaking. “It’s getting late.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” Predictably, Yuuji was undeterred. His persistence used to be endearing, but now, it just felt unfair. “I don’t mind sleeping over, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not like we’ve never spent the night together.”

A nervous laugh, his hand planted just a little too close to your thigh. “I wish you wouldn’t phrase it like—”

“I mean, I know I’m your type.” It was almost impressive, what he could say with such an innocent expression. His free hand found its way to your other side, pinning you between the arm of the couch and his broad chest. “I know you had a thing for Sukuna, and everyone says we’re practically identical. That means you should be into me too, right?”

“Yuuji,” Your eyes darted to your phone, left absent-mindedly on your coffee table. The urge was there, but it wasn’t like he would actually hurt you. He’d always been a sweet kid – a little overzealous, but that wasn’t a crime. This was just… a bad decision, one you had to stop him from making before he did something he’d regret. “Sukuna is my age, and—”

“I don’t care about that.” He cut in swiftly, definitively. His bright eyes had glazed over, catching the dim light of your T.V. as he leaned in further, as his face came to hover less than a full breath away from yours. “I’ve loved you since I was eight. Can Sukuna say that?”

“That’s not—”

“I know you used to fuck him.” His chest was touching yours, now, his breath hot against your skin. “I know you’d fuck him again, if he was here. I know—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. It was a weak blow, simultaneously hesitant and instinctual, but your open palm made contact with his cheek with a deafening crack, his head snapping to the side and putting that much more distance between his body and yours. He moved to cup his swelling cheek, and you took the opportunity to slip out from underneath him and stumble to your feet. “I think you should leave,” you repeated, the words spat hastily enough to blend together. “Please, Yuuji.”

For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Then, he turned to face you, his smile wiped away and his expression so blank, you couldn’t remember how you’d ever looked at him and saw anything other than void.

He didn’t say anything, only pushing himself to his feet and shambling out of your living room. You kept your eyes on the ground until his footsteps faded out of earshot, until you heard the front door creak open and slam shut with enough force to shake the walls.

When you were sure he was gone, you collapsed onto your couch and laid motionless while an actress screamed in the background.

~

“Your golden boy’s asking about you, again.”

You groaned, buckling at the waist and burying your face in your arms. Shoko glanced up from the exams she was grading, but whatever sympathy she might’ve felt apparently didn’t warrant the effort it would’ve taken to reach across the table to comfort you. “Satoru’s been getting it, too,” she went on. “That’s how you know it’s bad. I can’t remember the last time someone managed to talk over that narcissist.”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t remember how many times you’d already apologized for Yuuji’s recent fixation. “He’s… probably just worried about his grades, or something.”

Her lips quirked into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I was helping him study,” you admitted, reluctantly. As much as Shoko had to hear about your unruly patients and patronizing coworkers, you’d been less open about how much time you were spending with a student fresh out of undergrad. “He’s never been that good with school. I used to have to help him with his homework in elementary school, too.”

This time, she decided your conversation was important enough to earn her full attention. “Itadori’s one of my best students.”

You felt your chest tighten. “But, the first time he came over, you were tutoring—”

She said your name, curt and blunt, and you went quiet. With a sigh, she shook her head, dropping her pen entirely. “When was the last time I offered to personally tutor a struggling student?”

You swallowed dryly. “Never.”

“And when was the last time I gave our full address out to literally anyone?”

“Never,” you said, again. After a second, you added, “Well, there was that one time with Iori…”

“Not the point. I know you don’t want to hear it, but the kid’s a creep. You might have to—”

She was cut off by your phone buzzing against the table. Your eyes scanned over the caller’s name scrawled across the dim screen before moving back to Shoko, her gaze now narrowed into a sharp glare. “Don’t.”

And, for a second, you didn’t. You convinced yourself that you wouldn’t. You told yourself that, after you bought Satoru around of drinks as an apology, you’d do… you’d do something about Yuuji, even if you weren’t sure what you could do, just yet.

Then, you let yourself picture the kid you used to watch for a few dollars an hour while his grandfather was sick and his brother was on the other side of town doing something dubiously legal at best, dead in a ditch at worst – all wide eyes and scuffed elbows and lopsided grins. You let yourself remember the way he’d ramble about his day after you picked him up from school, and how excited he was the first time you made it to one of his school’s sports days, and how he’d clung to you and sobbed the day before his family moved to the other side of the country. At the time, you’d been thankful to have one less responsibility, relieved that you’d never have to see Sukuna again. You’d been selfish, even for a kid.

The phone was in your hand in a moment, the call answered in another. You stood as you brought it to your ear, hoping that would be enough to block out Shoko’s mumbled cursing.

“Yuuji?”

~

The silence in your car was thick, nearly suffocating.

It’d been one of Yuuji’s friends calling from his phone – the dark-haired one with the monotone voice, barely audible over the blaring music of whichever nightclub they were standing outside of. He’d asked you to, in his own words, ‘come get your problem child’, and when you’d asked why Yuuji needed you specifically, he’d only handed the phone back to Yuuji and let you listen to a full minute of whining, your name the only coherent thing to make it off of Yuuji’s tongue. Shoko urged you not to go, and yet, twenty minutes later, Yuuji was slumped over in your passenger seat, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in an uncharacteristic frown.

He was less talkative than he’d been on the phone. The clingier stages of his inebriation had passed, leaving room for a disassociated sort of passiveness that meant, even if you’d been brave enough to try and start a conversation, his response wouldn’t be anything worth that kind of effort. By the time you reached his apartment complex, the knot sitting at the pit of your stomach was equal parts dread and second-hand embarrassment, but you tried to keep your tone light as you turned to him. “It’s time to get out, Yuuji.” And then, when he failed to move, “You’re on your own from here.”

He looked at you, eyes unfocused and hands folded almost childishly over his lap. You softened more than you should’ve at the sight. “…do you need help getting home?”

A second of thought, a quick nod. You shouldn’t. You knew that you really, really shouldn’t.

And yet, somehow, you found yourself in front of Yuuji’s door, fussing over the lock as Yuuji clung to your side, his face buried in the dip of your shoulder. He was cooperative enough; able to stand on his own with minimum swaying but not so lucid that it took more than a gentle suggestion to lead him to his bedroom, where he was more than happy to collapse onto his unmade bed. With a shaky exhale, you turned to leave, but something caught on your sleeve – Yuuji’s hand, when you could bring yourself to check.

“Stay,” he mumbled, his voice dampened by the sheets his face was buried in. “Please?”

You felt your throat go dry. “I can’t.”

You expected him to go shrill and whiny, but he proved to be a touch more mature than the ten-year-old you used to babysit. Rather flatly, he asked, “Why not?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Would it be good enough to say that you didn’t want to, that you couldn’t spend your night looking after a drunk kid you’d known a decade ago, that you’d already done more than you should’ve just by giving him a ride? Was it worth trying to talk to him at all when he could barely hold his head up? Would it do anything to soften the burn of the bile rising into your throat to point out that, the last time you’d been in the same room as him, he’d tried to—

No, it wasn’t and it wouldn’t and you had to leave. With your heart racing in your chest, you tried to jerk yourself out of his hold, but his vice-grip only grew tighter, his head rising up from the mattress just enough to let him stare at you with those big, bleary eyes. “Why not?”

“Yuuji, this isn’t—”

He was so, so much stronger than he had been, the last time you’d seen each other. One second, you were on your feet, at his bedside, and the next, you were on the floor of his bedroom, forced onto your hands and knees while Yuuji’s body pressed into yours from above. “I love you,” he said, his voice as steady as it’d ever been. “I love you, and I—Fuck—” He panted against the back of your neck, something uncomfortably stiff grinding against your ass. “It makes me so fucking hard when you say my name like that.”

A hand slipped under the hem of your top, his palm pressing into the small of your back. You moved to speak, then thought better of it, biting into your bottom lip as your anxious squirming turned to full-blown struggling. Yuuji only laughed, the noise airy and affectionate, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you that much closer to him – making it that much more impossible to get away. His free hand worked clumsily at your top; drawing it up and over your head. You fought against it at first, but froze the first time you felt something stretch a little too far, heard fabric tear. This couldn’t happen, but you absolutely couldn’t be stranded in Yuuji’s apartment with no clothes and no way out.

With his face buried in the back of your shoulder, he cupped your chest, catching your nipples between his forefinger and thumb and pinching with just enough force to draw a low, strained whimper from the back of your throat. “So cute…” He nuzzled deeper into your neck as his touch drifted. Your skirt was drawn downward – a long piece, something you’d thrown on without much thought – then discarded completely, his own shirt wrestled off in the same motion. You felt his fingertips slip under the hem of your panties, but he pulled away and straightened his back, instead. For a second, you let yourself believe that he’d come to his senses, that whatever sick idea he’d gotten into his head had finally worn off, but the arm wrapped around your waist only drew tighter, hauling you off of the floor and into his arms. You were dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of his bed, and Yuuji sunk onto his knees between your open legs.

“I know you’ve probably slept with other people – aside from my brother, I mean. It’d be nice to find out you haven’t, though.” His tone was distant and dreamy. He was still drunk, but not drunk enough for how he’d been acting earlier. Not drunk enough for what he was doing now. He traced the pad of his thumb over your clothed slit, keeping a hand curled around your ankle to keep you in place. “I used to hear you with Sukuna – in his car, and his room, on the couch after you two thought I’d fallen asleep …” He trailed off into an airy laugh. “He likes to show off – always has. If he wasn’t my brother, I think I’d kill him.”

He sighed, pressing a lingering kiss into the inside of your thigh before shifting his attention to your pussy; his tongue laving over the thin material covering your cunt. You were crying, now, openly and audibly – your choked sobs almost loud enough to block out Yuuji’s quiet groans and pleased grunts. However his obsession might’ve made him think he felt about you, your distress didn’t seem to affect his appetite. Your panties were pulled down your legs and slid into some unseen pocket. With the last barrier between you and him gone, he was free to trace his tongue over your slit, to latch onto your clit and suck in a way that made you want to bury your face in your hands and scream. You tried to – crossing your arms over your face, but any sound you tried to make was quickly strangled into a broken moans as his tongue fucked shallowly into your pussy. It was invasive, disgusting, but your body didn’t care. You felt cunt clench around him as his nose ground into your clit, his need for air irrelevant while he spread you open with his tongue. Your thighs clenched shut, attempting to block him out, but his only response was a reverberating groan – and hand on your thigh encouraging you to squeeze him that much tighter.

You couldn’t tell which you hated more; the unwanted stimulation or the fact that your body was reacting to it, heating up where you needed it to go cold. As he sunk further into you, ate you out like a beast starved, you clenched your eyes and willed yourself to go numb, to ignore the sloppy sound of your slick on Yuuji’s lips. It was useless, though, as futile as trying to ignore him in the first place. Your back arched off the bed, legs twitching where they hung limply over his shoulders, and—

 —and Yuuji pulled away with a sharp gasp. He was on top of you before you could process that he was moving, his mouth crashing into yours before you could think to avoid him. The kiss was brutal, rushed; all teeth and tongue and lips shoved against yours with enough force to bruise. The only hint of tenderness was the soft, satisfied noise he let out as his tongue raked across yours, the bright grin painted across his lips when he drew back from you. “It’s alright.” He brought a hand to your cheek, cupping your face and brushing away tears with his thumb. “I’ve slept with other people too, ‘cause I knew I’d need a little practice to catch up with you. Could never go all the way, though. I just thought about you, and…” He blushed, simpered, like he thought he could pass himself off as the shy, lip-biting schoolboy with your slick coating his chin. “I guess I just didn’t really want anyone else to touch me. Not when I knew I’d see you again.”

A horrified sob bubbled up from somewhere deep and primal in your chest. Yuuji didn’t seem to hear it, only sighing as he pressed a lingering kiss into your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything,” he muttered, his hands falling to your waist. “I want to take care of you, tonight.”

You watched in stunned, paralyzed horror as he pushed himself to his feet, as he hastily worked off his jeans, his boxers (the dark material already notably stained with proof of his arousal). You made one more feeble attempt to squirm out from underneath him, to get away before his attention turned back to you, but confused and betrayed and so, so exhausted, you didn’t stand much of a chance against Yuuji. All he had to do was glance your way, his expression as warm as it was soulless, to leave you helpless against him.

He was eager enough not to reposition you, not to draw this out with the pretense of romance. With one hand on your hip and the other planted near your head, he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance and forced himself into you, bottoming out in a single thrust.

It was agony – pure and unrelenting. Any semblance of gentleness, of restraint fell away as soon as Yuuji was inside of you, as soon as your hyper-sensitive cunt clamped down around his cock. He cursed under his breath before collapsing, his chest pressing into yours as he tried to bury himself that much deeper inside of you, to chase the feeling of your pussy milking him for all he was worth. As hard as you tried not to think about Sukuna, Yuuji hadn’t been lying when he said they were alike. He was just as insatiable as his brother had been any time you let him but his hands on you; just as rough in the way his hips ground into yours between sporadic thrusts. There’d been bruises, the next day. At least Sukuna had been the type to make sure he was gone by the time the damage set in. You doubted Yuuji would be so kind.

“I—I’m sorry,” he managed as he buckled into you. Panting against the dip of your shoulder, he took your hips in his hands and dragged your ass of the mattress, his brutal pace stuttering as he found a new angle to abuse. “Next time—I’ll be gentle next time, I just need to—”

His cock hit something soft and sensitive inside of you. Reflexively, your hands shot to his back, your nails finding skin and tearing. The moan Yuuji let out in response was nothing short of sinful; hitched and guttural, ragged and loud enough to block out the wet, slick sound of his cock pumping into your cunt. “M—” His hand wraps around your thigh, catching you under the knee and dragging it towards your chest, letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much faster. His face never left the crook of your neck, as if he was afraid to give you space to breathe. “Mommy, ‘m sorry, I need to—”

His teeth sunk into your throat as something hot and thick flooded into your cunt, as your body went stiff and your vision burned white. While his climax was sudden, intense, the peak to a decade’s worth of patience, yours had to be dragged out of you despite your attempts to hold it back, to deny yourself pleasure in the vain hope that it’d somehow be able to convince Yuuji to stop what he’d already finished. It seemed to hold you there in that state of dark, distorted euphoria for minutes – Yuuji’s movements turning slow and languid as he nursed you through your orgasm.

Eventually, mercifully, he went still, going limp above you with his canines still planted in the curve of your neck. If there was any pain, any other unwanted burdens he could force onto you, you were too lost in your own despair to notice, too distant to feel anything other than the mildest tinge of dread as he pulled back, raising his head just far enough to stare down at you, adoration heavy in his eyes and his grin wide and love-struck.

A small, naïve part of you found the sight suffocatingly familiar, while the rest could almost convince itself that you were looking at a stranger.

(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.

---

❝ ONLY A FOOL FOR YOU ❞ — ꒰ zen’in naoya ꒱

summary — after a nasty break up, you decide the best way to get over somebody is by getting under someone else.

OR — zen’in naoya is a rebound (and he's big mad about it) | wc — 6.5k

content/tw — SMUT, fuckboy!naoya, yandere!naoya, fem!reader, shy reader, introvert reader, pet names (sweetheart, 'adjective' girl, etc.), canon divergence: modern au, pwp, nsfw, size kink, degradation kink (it's naoya), praise kink, masochism, dacryphilia, impact play, chivalrous themes (or misogyny!), possessive behavior, haters to lovers (literally), oral fixation, gagging (a lot of gagging idc), anal play, squirting, creampie, a li’l bit of voyeurism, cum eating, threw in a stray daddy kink bc i am who i am — idc man this is just filth w a thin plot + greenhair!naoya supremecy!!!

a/n — honestly, this is really just me being horny on main for my no. 1 piece of shit, problematic fave (aka my actual husband) yw ♡ lmk what you think!!! comments & reblogs would be gr8 feedback ✧ ˚ · .

────✧.*

B—ZZZ, (b—zzz, b—zzz).

You gasp, head thrown back, a sharp pain tugging at your scalp that quickly bleeds into the spine-tingling pleasure you're already neck deep in, intensifying it. Your trembling hand pauses in its reach for your vibrating phone — to decline the call, choosing instead to clutch desperately at the wrinkled sheets below in search of something to ground yourself to as your senses are overwhelmed.

The heavy hand pressing down on your spine, right between stiff shoulder blades, bars you from raising up. That large palm with your hair wound tightly around it is a heady reminder of where you are— 

B—ZZZ, (b—zzz, b—zzz).

What you're doing. 

Who you're with.

B—ZZZ, (b—zzz, b—zzz).

A particularly deep thrust has the thick cock sliding into you roughly pounding at your cervix, and you keen at the feel. It's a pleasurable pain that you're gagging for now, but you know you'll be nauseated by the deep ache the sure-to-be-bruised barrier will house as a lingering reminder of your choices later.

A sigh of relief is punched out of your lungs, breaths stilted and short — you're getting light-headed without a proper moment of respite to just breathe, with the aggressive backshots you're taking when your phone stops buzzing, the caller finally giving up. 

The strong arm banded under your hips, keeping your shaking legs propped up — making sure you're presented just the way he likes: face down, ass up — flexes and suddenly your lower body's being lifted higher, forcing you to angle your back into a deeper arch for him. 

With your breasts and shoulders pinned to the bed, and your bent knees dangling several inches above the mattress, you have no choice but to let the big brute have his way with you. 

He won't leave you hanging, high and dry. No, he's intent on wringing you out, milking you for all you're worth until he's had more than his fill.

He's already made that clear if the spreading wet patch on the sheets wasn't indication enough. The way he'd had your thighs clenching around his head earlier was a pleasant surprise, the cool metal of his ear piercings on your bare skin a dizzying reminder that he wasn't the man calling your phone.

He'd seemed the selfish in bed type, when you'd spotted him staring without shame at the bar — deep green hair slicked back to show off sharp eyes, heavy chain glinting around his thick neck, and a smug look that said he knew he was a gift to humankind. 

The type of guy that got off in that way that left women feeling used and deeply unsatisfied, maybe even dirty. The kind to be chasing his own pleasure with a single-minded focus. 

His personality also left much to be desired when he'd approached you, but he was an annoyingly pretty face that dressed well — something you could work with when he wasn't talking and fucking up the vibes. 

It didn't take a genius to figure out he had to be just as easy on the eyes underneath all the thin layers of expensive, fitted clothes.

As you hurtle towards another mind-numbing orgasm while he's yet to have his first— 

Well...

That blatant fact alone has you idly reconsidering some prior misconceptions in between stuttered breaths and gasping moans.

You've been wrong about a lot of things in life, lately. 

The ringing starts back up, constant and unrelenting — like the large body towering over yours.

B—ZZZ (b—zzz, b—zzz).

"Answer," his low voice growls into your ear, broad, sweaty chest bowed over your back as sinful hips swirl tightly against the plush swell of your ass. A nip to one of your own ear piercings has you yelping, his sharp teeth tugging the jewelry before rough lips are pressing to your jaw in an open-mouthed kiss — wet and sloppy, just like the heat between your legs. "Tell him you're busy—"

B—ZZZ (b—zzz, b—zzz).

You're vaguely aware that you're babbling, eyes scrunched shut and brows furrowed in dumbstruck bliss, as he bullies your poor little cunt with his fat cock, brutal thrusts, and unrelenting pace. 

B—ZZZ (b—zzz, b—zzz).

You hadn't realized what you were saying, didn't know you were saying anything at all — nothing that could be understood, at least (or so your hazy mind thought) — until a harsh smack to your flank has you crying out in surprise, legs kicking in the air and taut arms scrambling to try to escape the searing sting. 

He keeps you pinned firmly in place, lower body lifted just high enough that he is your only true grounding source, with strong hands and even stronger arms on your body. 

You'd told him no. 

Repeatedly. 

He didn't like being told 'no', and especially not by you.

B—ZZZ (b—zzz, b—zzz).

"Tell him or I will," Naoya hisses, sharp teeth biting at your cheek, before leaning back on his knees, resting on his heels as his narrow hips and muscular thighs flex behind you — working himself deeper and deeper inside your slippery warmth, as if he hadn't already burrowed several layers under your skin with the first mind-shattering orgasm he'd given you much earlier in the night.

B—ZZZ (b—zzz, b—zzz).

You blindly reach, heated face pressed into his bedsheets to muffle your bliss-filled sobs — soaking in his masculine scent, drowning in him him him. You tap recklessly at your phone with shaky little clicks of your manicured nails against the screen until you hear a harsh intake of breath as you bring the device up to your ear.

You and the caller speak at the same time:

"—inally. You there, babygirl?"

"H-heh—ello?"

There's a sigh that sounds undeservingly relieved on the other end, and you hear the rustling of fabric in one ear and the depraved sounds of your slick and bare skin meeting Naoya's in the other. You choke back a moan when he slowly grinds his pelvis against your ass again, hips angled just right where his tip catches against that spot—

"—iss you, babe—"

"S—S’toru," you stutter, trying to tamp down the sound of your building ecstasy and push the less-appealing exasperation you feel at this happening when you're so close to another orgasm into your voice. 

You only succeed in sounding winded, the syllables of his name slurring together as Naoya releases you from his domineering hold — pulling all the way out (you ignore his amused huff at the protesting whine you have to muffle into his mattress with warm cheeks and wet lashes) and lunging forward to grab you by the waist and thigh. 

He flips you flat onto your back in an easy and rapid, fluid movement that leaves you staring, dazed and a little light-headed at the sudden change, up at his ceiling.

"You... ’kay?" Satoru asks, genuinely concerned, though his voice is thick and slow in a way that reminds you of syrup. He's been drinking. Of course he has. He wouldn't be calling you at such a late hour, otherwise. 

Not now, at least.

"Mm—hah!" you bite down on your bottom lip, eyes glossy as you stare up at Naoya in a silent plea for mercy. He declines with a dark brow raised at you before continuing his ministrations. "Mmhm."

"—hat's good. I'm... I'm glad."

Naoya's smug as he looks down his nose at you. His narrow eyes command your attention, pink lips tilted up at one corner at how well you obey, as he rubs the leaky head of his thick, ruddy cock against your clit. He's teasing you, dipping just the tip into your weeping cunt with every pass up and down your soaked folds.

The brief shallow stretch and that awful accompanying emptiness is already driving you crazy, but when he massages his sticky pre into your puffy clit — applies it right from the source — immediately after? Again and again?

You might actually have to be institutionalized.

It's taking everything in you to silence your moans and whimpers while your ex is drunkenly rambling on the other end of the call you were forced to answer. He'd be pissed if he knew. You'd never hear the end of it even though he was the one that cheated.

"I... I really miss you, baby. I know you don't want to hear it—"

Naoya gives your poor, overstimulated bundle of nerves a brief respite as he fists himself with a few quick, tight pumps to redistribute your combined fluids on his skin. 

It's a short-lived mercy, and you choke on air when he suddenly slaps his length against your cunt. He's so mean, making sure your clit takes the brunt of the impact — the swollen little nub throbbing as your damp thighs try to snap shut, but his own broad legs are keeping you spread wide open for him.

He can't help the low chuckle that escapes when you go doe-eyed at the hot, pulsating sensation of pleasure-pain coursing through your body along with your rushing blood, a forearm thrown across your flushed face as you muffle your tiny yelp into your skin.

"—am so sorry. I made a mistake. I want you back. I need—"

Your breathing hitches as Naoya furiously rubs his angry red tip against your aching clit. You can feel the slick sliding from your hole, feel where it pools beneath your ass in the growing wet patch on his expensive, wrinkled sheets. You'd be shocked if you hadn't already soaked through to his mattress.

"—wanna try again, babygirl. Please, I can't lose y—"

Naoya's lazy smirk and the slow appraisal of his eyes as they travel from your flustered expression down the length of your body — locking on to where he's coating you in his arousal as much as you are him — sends another rush of searing heat through you. 

You can't help the desperate 'please' you let out when Naoya dips into your cunt again, teasing your little hole with the promise of being split open and stretched wide wide wide on his thick—

"Yeah?" Both men breathe, one laced with surprise and the other arrogance. You don't know how to feel when the sound of their voices combined nearly has you creaming on the tip of Naoya's dick.

"Y-you'd like that?"

"You like that?"

You nod at Naoya, willing him on silently. He doesn't like that. He lets you know, loud and clear, by the way he slaps his cock against your poor little pussy again and again and again — not stopping even when your small hand shoots down between your bodies, clutching at his wrist desperately as a choked sob escapes your lips.

"Shhh—don't cry, baby. I—I'm happy, too—so ha—"

"Heh, ya cryin’?" Naoya sneers, lips curling back as he rubs his tip along your clit and slaps his cock against your cunt — rubs and slaps, rubs and slaps— "That mouth workin’ or do I need to fix it for you, hm?"

Satoru's too busy bawling and thanking you profusely (for what?) on the other line to notice another man's voice on your end.

Your pretty nails dig into the tendons along his wrist, sure to leave battle wounds he'll wear proudly (a sign of another fight won), as you take your eyes off him to glance at your phone. You're trying to mute the call when a large hand grips your chin roughly, forcing your eyes back onto Naoya's unamused face. 

He keeps your gazes locked as you feel his cock-head prod at your entrance — you can feel the corded muscles of his thighs flexing where he has your own soft legs spread on top of them — and you whine at the stretch of him sinking in, but it's not enough when he stops at just the tip. 

You try to roll your hips, using his broad thighs as leverage to grind down onto him, but he's quick to pin your lower body down with his free hand — the grip on your jaw tightening as he tuts his tongue at you. 

His deep voice is pitched low when he speaks, and you know he can feel the way your pussy clenches at the sound of it by the way he pauses — pink tongue darting out to lick at his lips before that lopsided smirk tugs at them. 

"Aht, aht—use your words, sweetheart."

Naoya takes the phone from your hand, that lazy smirk bleeding into a snide grin as he sees the call's still connected, and carelessly tosses it behind him where it lands somewhere near the foot of the bed.

Far enough away to not bother him, but still plenty close for the dumbass on the other line to get the hint.

He tries again. "Words, angel. This little cunt's not gonna fuck itself."

"It coul—AH!"

He chuckles as your spread legs kick out around him the moment he bottoms out in one mean, deep thrust. He cups a hand behind his pierced ear, tilting his head as he mocks you. "’m sorry, what was that?"

"F-fuck," you whimper, chest heaving as your eyes water. You're so full, you can feel him — like he's in your throat, he's so deep. He could choke you like this, you think. It'd be a noble way to go. Death by dick.

A manic sort of look passes over his face as he eyes where you're connected, big hand pinning you by the hip now sliding across your soft skin until he's pressing on the outline of his cock buried deep — very much visible with how he's got your body angled up for him. 

"Takin’ me so well—" he glides out of you, barely has the head kissing your entrance, before snapping his hips forward — sweat-slick skin on skin clapping — with his heavy palm never straying from where it rests on top of your womb. He grunts as he bottoms out, grinds up into you, cock nudging his hand while his fingers try to grip himself through your pliant flesh.

"The last guy never fucked you like this, huh? Didn't reach this deep?"

Sparkling tears stream down your face as you sob out your pleasure, empty little head shaking side to side as you babble — mostly incoherent nothings: s-so good, moremoremore, pl—ease! — but it's the breathless 'n-no, n–nev—never!' that he chokes out of you with a mean push down on your bulging lower abdomen as he's buried deep, tip banging on your cervix, that has him smiling like he's just happy to be here.

"Daddy knows," he soothes, rough hands groping and sliding all over your body until they're grabbing at the juncture of your knees — broad chest pressing tight against the backs of your thighs as he pushes forward, leaning his full weight onto you while shoving your legs up to rest by your ears in one motion. 

Naoya has you neatly folded, your pretty eyes rolling back when you're unable to do anything except take, and oh does he give. 

He moans right in your face with cruel satisfaction at how your sweet little cunt's sucking him in. The lewd squelching as your arousal grows at being manhandled and fucked dumb like it's nothing is such a tell, and you don't even know it. 

Your small hands are covering your face, trying to hide the deep blush spanning cheek to cheek and the obscene expressions his cock's ripping from you. Your muffled voice begs sweetly for him — so polite, too, with 'please' slipping off your tongue so easily; it must be your mantra.

You're soaking wet, flooding his thighs all the way down to his sheets with every deep push in and every slow pull out. It's all for him. Just for him. His lips curl back as he taunts you (because he's still Naoya, after all):

"Poor baby, gonna fuck you right. Don't worry. A real man's gotcha."

────✧.*

"H—hah—arder!"

Naoya pauses, a single brow cocked high, before he swings his hand forward again — warm palm aiming for that exact same spot on your ass he's been slapping relentlessly for the last few minutes now. He licks his lips, smirking at how you squeal in pain yet you keep pushing your hips back into his hand like you can't get enough.

"Harder," you whine again, a little desperate as you shift on your knees — wiggling your ass up up up at him until he has a good view of your empty little hole dripping for him, from him. "Pl—ease, f–fuck."

He obliges, what a lady thinks she wants she should get and all, with another heavy hand against your red cheek — the skin hot to the touch from the blood-rush. He's rewarded with a wanton moan sucked into your lungs.

There's already the beginnings of a bruise, in the shape of his large handprint outlined in red, forming on your tender skin.

You'll be sore for days — reminded of him anytime you sit — maybe even weeks while the bruises take their time (slow like syrup) to heal. 

Naoya swears low, almost breathless, as he watches your spasming hole push your cream out. All that just from some slaps. It makes him giddy. He catches it with the flushed tip of his throbbing cock, doesn't let even a drop go to waste when he smears it all over your puffy pussy like he's painting a pretty picture — one only he can see. 

"What a slut," he breathes, the insult nearly reverent, lining himself back up with your tight entrance, narrow eyes glued to the way your lips stretch to accommodate the wide girth of him. "Getting off on havin’ your ass all bruised up like a little whore. That what you are, huh? Whore." 

You mewl into your forearms, shaking your head side to side in vacant protest at how mean he sounds — mind blank of anything but pleasure-pain, pleasure-pain, pleasure-pain—

CRACK!

You gasp, fingers scrambling to grip the pillow ahead of you — burying your face deep — to muffle your shrill scream as Naoya begins treating your other cheek to the same, brutal smacks that has its twin aching. 

You can't help but to press back into him, riding that wave of mindless bliss with a bite, sliding your cunt further down onto his dick until he's plugging you up — balls deep — your little whines breathless and choked as he continues his assault on your soft body. 

For every stinging impact, your body jolts forward — tight walls dragging up the long length of him, stuttering in morse code around his firm heat. 

If you were more lucid, you would have noticed the way he twitches inside of you every time your walls pulsed — as if it were trying to send a message back.

For every diffusing swipe of his warm palm on your burning skin, you press backwards — the arch of your delicate spine more prominent as you bounce along his dick, drooling little pussy swallowing him up whole. 

The greedy way you fuck yourself back onto him has Naoya biting his bottom lip to keep steady when all he feels is you — your soft skin, your slippery wet warmth, the way you body gives while his takes. It has his head spinning, dizzy with lust and want.

"F—UCK," Naoya groans, deep voice rattling, head thrown back — jaw slack, as he grinds his hips flush against your fever-warm cheeks, cock digging deep to hit that spot that has you squealing out for him punctuated with breathless giggles — so stupid from how good he's fucking you. 

He hits that same spot over and over and over again, your hitching cries spurring him on like music to his ears. "T-take it—j-just like that—HAH, fuck. Fuck. Y’look so good like this."

He grips your bruised ass, using his red handprints as a guide, and spreads you open — sharp eyes glazing as he watches the way his cock grows creamier, whiter at the base, with every harsh thrust into your puffy cunt. 

He licks his lips, eyes flickering up a fraction to your puckered little hole — a feral grin forming at how lonely it looks, empty and wanting. 

It winks up at him — tiny thing just asking for it, he swears.

He shifts a hand along your plush ass, thumbing at where the two of you are connected in a lewd display — moaning at the feel of his firm length splitting your pliant little body open, collecting your combined fluids with back and forth swipes along your stuffed seam until his thumb is positively dripping.

He hums, the growing pitch of your little whines, soft giggles, and breathless moans egging him on, and he keeps your cheeks spread wide as he rubs his coated thumb along your tight little ring. You suck in a sharp breath, puckered hole spasming at the sudden attention, and he gives you no time to protest as he presses the tip of his biggest, thickest finger against your rim until it yields — working more in until he's got it notched deep, down to the knuckle. 

That's all it takes, really, to have you creaming his cock — tight little walls clenching around him until it gets a touch too snug for him to move properly. 

He settles for grinding his hips in a tight seal against yours, swirling his dick around and churning your insides until you're a babbling, drooling mess under him at the overstimulation as he makes you ride out your orgasm with more pleasure. 

You'd said harder, begged for more (even said please), and who was he to deny a woman? He was a gentleman, after all. Raised proper. 

He uses his thumb in your ass and his cock in your cunt to keep your hips propped up, hunching over you to shove two fingers deep into your open mouth — laughing meanly when you gag on your moan as he tries to reach down your throat. 

He noses along your neck and jawline, humming in contentment when your spit-slick lips wrap around his thick fingers — little tongue curling around them as your cheeks hollow out on a suck.

"Good girl," Naoya coos, and then he's the one choking — a low swear stuck in his throat — at how your still-spasming pussy and ass clench tightly around him at the praise. 

He breaks the seal of your lips, grinning at the amount of spit already leaking out and down your chin, to hook your jaw below your tongue. He hisses as he rises back up, tall on his knees as his hips and thighs flex. 

His fingers are occupying every hole his dick can't, and it's still not enough for him.

Naoya drags you up by the mouth, narrow shoulders against his pecs as you keep that delicious arch for him — poor thing still trying to run from the pleasure you were begging for earlier. He shifts the thumb in your puckered hole, swiveling it around until he can get a better grasp on your ass cheek. 

He uses that new grip to pull you further onto his cock, long fingers pushing down your throat to gag you when you scream and try to scramble off of him as his cock-head nudges deep deep deep—

"Gonna gush on my cock, too, pretty thing?" His voice is gruff, breath warm against the cool metal of your ear piercings. You can't answer with the way he fucks the very breath you need out of your lungs with each slow, deep thrust upwards. "Wanna wash all that cream down these heavy balls, huh? You gonna clean me up after I fill you full, little girl?"

You gag yourself on his fingers as you try to nod your head eagerly, tears spilling down your face as he tickles the back of your throat, drool dripping from your chin and down to your bite mark covered tits. 

"Mmph—mm–mmhm!" is the best you can give him.

He'll take it.

And your womb.

He hooks his fingers under your tongue again, letting your gasping, broken cries ring out into his bedroom as he pummels your pussy with reckless abandon. He wiggles his thumb every now and then for good measure; he doesn't want you forgetting that he's everywhere inside of you right now. He feels his balls tighten and he grunts, sharp teeth biting down on the juncture of your neck as he presses in deep one last time—

"O-oh! Oh f-f—uck!" You squeal as your thighs shake violently, spread wide around his own, his hips grinding up into you as he cums inside — cock pressing hard and deep into that one spot that has your vision whiting out as you gush around him, soaking his lap and the sheets directly below.

"Good girl," Naoya praises, voice deep on a groan, head tossed back.

Your own head falls back along his sternum as breathless, satisfied giggles spill from your lips, basking in the buzzing afterglow of such an intense orgasm, before you're back to sucking languidly around his long fingers until he pulls them free. 

You don't have time to whine at the loss when he's nudging your chin up to catch your mouth with his own.

It's a wet and messy kiss, lips moving and tongues lapping until you're gasping for air — tugging his hungry mouth away from yours with a harsh yank of his hair. He hums, licking his lips, eyes hooded low and cheeks flushed as he looks down at you. 

He maintains eye contact as he slowly pulls his thumb free, kissing the furrow of your brows as you wince at the sting and sudden emptiness. He kneads your tender ass, as if in apology, before pressing you forward with a hand between your shoulders. You gasp when he pulls out, still half-hard, at the rush of fluid leaking from your stretched hole.

He tsks, spit-soaked fingers swiping along your drenched folds to scoop his cum — rough pads shoving it all back deep inside of your warmth in a way that has you breathless and feeling hot all over again. He doesn't stop until he's satisfied, patting your glazed, swollen cunt softly once he's done. 

Curious as to what he'll do next, you tip your head over your shoulder just in time to watch him suck his fingers clean, tongue lapping between the webbing to catch what wouldn't fit in his mouth.

You swear weakly, doe eyes glossy, at the sight. He smirks, wiggling the two glistening fingers at you in a little wave.

"Don't be jealous, I have something else for you t’ suck on."

The way his muscular arm draws your eyes — bulging bicep flexing, forearms vascular with such an intense pump — to where his hand grips at the wide base of his cock coated in your cream and his seed has you swallowing down the pool of saliva in your mouth. 

He beckons with those same two fingers crooking at you, eyes heavy with satisfaction.

"Come clean daddy up."

You're quick to listen, shuffling around in a tangle of lethargic limbs and damp sheets to crawl over and rest between his knees. He laughs at your eagerness, smoothing your sweat-damp hair away from your face, collecting it all into a nice tail to grip in one hand.

He hisses, a bit sensitive but enjoying himself nontheless, as you kitten lick at his slit — collecting most of the mess with a curl of your little tongue around his tip. 

Your lips wrap around him — just the tip, of course (you're a mean one, too) — and you suck his head clean, only popping off with a wet sound once it's shiny with your spit.

You hum in delight, small fist pumping along his re-inflated shaft, at the sinful taste of your combined orgasms, an idle part of you thinking how you could easily get used to the salty sweet tang. 

You lick a thick stripe clean from the base of his length up to the tip, following the pulsing vein all the way, and playfully show Naoya your cum-coated tongue before you swallow it down. 

His clenched jaw drops with a deep groan, hand full of hair tugging your head back — narrow eyes flaring as you moan at the sting on your scalp, glassy eyes slipping shut as you savor—

Your eyes snap open in surprise when he spits into your open mouth, warm and wet, with no warning. 

Your lips snap shut, throat constricting on a swallow out of instinct, before he can even command it. 

That seems to please him because he hums, low and almost like a big cat purring, with a stupid, self-satisfied smile on his pink face. The hand holding your hair tightens as his cock bobs, abs flexing, in a dead giveaway to how much he had liked that.

You're about to suck him down when something catches your attention, a small frown tugging at your lips as you glance over towards the foot of the bed. 

Your phone's laying in the tangle of sheets, black screen up. There's a persistent hum, like a bug flying around your head, that sounds loud in the sudden quiet.

Your skin prickles with uneasy awareness though your mind's much too fucked out to focus on what that might mean. 

Were you actually hearing your ex's voice or were you just having auditory hallucinations from the lack of blood-flow to your brain? 

You're not all that sure, and you can't really bring yourself to care too much either when you've got such a pretty cock standing at full mast, waiting to be laved clean with your naughty little mouth right in front of you.

Taking Satoru's call while Naoya was working himself balls deep into you had been risky, but you'd made it to the other side with multiple screaming orgasms, shaking legs and eyes wet with tears of pure bliss — a simple, novel shift in your life that has you grateful for the man before you, even if he was a jackass.

(All Satoru made you do these days was cry sad tears. No orgasms to compensate.)

The least you can do is thank the man that made it all possible to see the light at the end of the tunnel again, and what better way than the one he asked for?

Naoya notices where your attention has shifted to and scowls, handful of hair tugging you back to reality — back to him — with a sharp pull.

"Let daddy see what that mouth can do," he coaxes, guiding your head back to his neglected length with sudden urgency. He has your face nearly pressed against where your combined spend has been slowly dripping down to his balls. 

You smile to yourself at the needy tone lacing his words, how his deep voice strains with want. He's been so good to you, giving you everything you asked for and more. It's about time you reciprocate.

Naoya chokes, hand dropping the length of your hair to roughly grip at your scalp, pushing you down further as you lap up the thickening fluid on his heavy balls. He swears when you suck one into your mouth, tongue massaging it as your lips keep it hostage. 

You alternate, cleaning the other one until you're just playing with them for fun while your small hands work in tandem — one stroking along his length and one fondling the twin that isn't in your mouth.

"Fuck—f–fuck, that's... good. Feels s’go—od."

The way you hum happily around his sac, starry little doe eyes looking up at the pinched expression on his face — his brows furrowed, mouth gone slack, sharp eyes squeezed shut — has a broken keen coming out of him.

His dick's pulsing in your hand with every twisting stroke, and you know Naoya's close to busting again with the way his balls have started to tighten with your attention. 

He might like edging himself, you think, when he yanks you up by the hair to press a filthy kiss against your swollen lips — tongue shoving in to tangle with yours when your mouth parts on a startled gasp. 

Naoya moans into the kiss at the taste of you both on your tongue, and he doesn't pull away until you're both light-headed and panting. A long, shiny string of spit connects you until his tongue lashes out and snaps it, grinning down at you after swallowing what he caught.

"Gonna let me fuck that throat or what?"

He drags you along with him, arm hooking you by the waist, up to the top of the bed where he reclines against the headboard. Naoya's muscular legs are spread lazily for you — so you can slot yourself in close — offering you ample room to work with and make yourself comfortable. 

His cock stands proud, thick and flushed — the fat tip glossy with pre oozing out in anticipation. It bobs, briefly slapping up against his stomach, as you slowly crawl on all fours towards him looking dazed yet determined — all heart eyes as you focus on the way his tip glistens in the dim light.

You kneel before Naoya like you're at an altar, bowing your head low to lap at his gooey slit, the beginning of your prayer to him.

Naoya eyes your phone with a cheshire smile while you choke down his length, his big thumb brushing the pretty little tears from your lash line as he coos down at you — his gentle tone contrasting his crude choice of words:

"Such a hungry little slut, aren't you? ’s a good thing daddy's got so much t’ feed you, huh."

He knows it's only a matter of time before you notice the screaming that's starting to filter through the receiver as the man's volume increases. 

He tangles his long, thick fingers into your hair — holding your head still as he fucks up into your mouth in a move that has you gagging violently, your throat constricting around his cock in a way that has him sucking in air through his teeth.

"Greedy baby," he jeers when he tries to drag you up, but you whine in protest. Your flushed cheeks hollow on a vicious suck that keeps your glossy, swollen lips wrapped tightly around the width of him. "Can't even go a second without this fat cock in one of your holes."

"WHO THE FU—" 

Naoya's chuckle drowns out Satoru's tinny swears, the sheer volume of his yelling blowing out your phone's speakers. The sound of an incoming video call fills the room alongside your gagging and slurping as Naoya fucks himself deep into your throat.

"Answer the fucking call," Satoru snarls.

Your vision is hazy, distorted by the tears in your eyes as you continue to gag and swallow around the thick cock in your mouth, drool dripping out and down your chin. You still try to reach for your phone where it's been tossed aside, clear across the king-sized bed, with the intent to decline and end the prolonged call altogether.

But then Naoya leans over — the long length of his body and arms easily reaching it before you can, and you choke as his other hand meanly shoves your head back down as he thrusts into your mouth while the sound of the video call connecting joins your gagging.

Satoru balks at the smug grin and marked up broad chest that fills the screen, his face crowded so close to his own phone's screen that all that shows are his wide, bloodshot blue eyes and part of his forehead. There's a pulsing vein visible just above his brows.

"Who the fuck are you, and where the fuck is my girl—?!" 

Naoya tosses his head back as he hisses out a mixture between a groan and laugh. Your wide-eyed panic has your throat clenching around his cock, and he can't say he hates it. 

Gojo Satoru's bitching as he face-fucks you only makes it better.

An idea comes to him, completely ignoring the way Gojo's threatening to beat his ass, and it takes only seconds for him to follow through — flipping the camera's view to you.

He watches as the man's face falls, goes slack-jawed, at the sight of your sweet, glossy lips stretched wide around the base of his fat cock — cute little nose pressed against his trimmed pubes — with tears in your eyes as his large hand helps you bob up and down the long length of him. You're drooling and gagging, a pretty little mess, and it's all for him. 

"This your girl?" Naoya taunts, wrapping his fist in your hair before pulling you off of his cock entirely. You whine, mouthing at his shiny, spit-coated tip, looking up at him in a way that's utterly depraved. 

Your eyes are wide, all pretty color and blown out pupils with lashes spiked with tears, but they're glazed over in a way that says nobody's home — too fucked out from his cock, and eager to please in return.

He makes a show of how desperate you are to lap at his sloppy dick and heavy balls again, tugging you further back by the hair. 

Gojo's silent in his rage, camera shaking as he seethes. 

Naoya lets your hair fall loose from his fist, and it's nearly instantaneous — how you swallow him back down to the hilt, gagging yourself and drooling like a baby, but never giving up.

That's all it takes, really. That, and the way your throat clenches as you hum in contentment when Naoya reaches a hand down to pet at the nape of your neck — rough fingers scratching at the base of your skull — has him swearing as he shoots his load down your throat. 

"F—UCK, that's it—drink up, angel."

You try your best, wanting him to praise you more — to call you more pretty names.

But there's more than you anticipated, though, as your lips slide up his length. The viscous substance chokes you as it fills your mouth. You pop off of him with a lewd, wet sound, and he glances at the absolutely revolted look on Gojo's face when you open your mouth to show Naoya all of his cum laying thick and white on your tongue.

He taps a long finger against your chin in silent command, and your glistening eyes crinkle shut as you happily oblige, stray tears glittering down an abstract path along your flushed cheeks. 

You swallow it all down, sticking your naughty little tongue out — clean and pink — as you playfully go 'ahhh' to show him how well you listened.

"Heh," Naoya flips the camera back to show his face. He didn't think it was possible for the man to look even more upset as he was met with an unmistakable Zen’in. "I think you mean our girl."

---

꒰ྀི 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 !

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AFTER DARK. Armin Arlert (CH. 6) (18+)

☰ pairings: Armin x Reader, Slight Eren x Reader

┌─ ✮⭒｡ story summary: Armin was tired of being seen as an innocent, goody-two-shoes, little flower boy. Instead, he wanted to be seen in a more romantic and…sexual light. You just couldn’t turn down a sweet boy like him, so you agreed to hone his charms and teach him special…skills.

And he turned out to be much more powerful (and hotter) than you'd ever expected.

└─ ✩⭒｡ story #tags: fluff, angst, smut, friends to lovers, friends w benefits, drama, jealousy, hurt/comfort, manipulative armin, virgin armin, loss of virginity, childhood friends, lots of tension, nerd armin, and then he glows up, love triangles, unrequited love, gaslighting, lots of buildup

☰ CHAPTER SIX. armin's first

┌─ ✮⭒｡ chapter summary: Things get heated. Things get so, so heated.

└─ ✩⭒｡ chapter warnings: smut (p in v sex, fingering), fem bodied reader, loss of virginity, petting, literally most of this is foreplay

wc: 9.7k

☰ table of contents | previous chapter | next chapter

In the dim of your living room, your eyes could only see him. And right here, on the plush of your couch, your body only knew his. 

Armin held you, secured you, and grounded you, strong arms snaked around your waist as you became all too aware of your intermingling bodies. The squish of your thighs against his, the unashamed press of your tits against his chest, the weight of his breaths against your lips…

You could still feel the tingle on your lips where he’d last kissed you, a ghost of his touch. 

Above you, the clock ticked louder and louder in your ears, louder than the blood that rushed to muffle your hearing and the pounding of your pulse, a looming reminder that it was late. That you had work in the morning. That you were running out of time. 

That you shouldn’t be doing this.

Another sound intruded on you. A voice, his voice, running rampant in the back of your head.

Will your roommate be home soon?

The fact that he’d asked that question…just what did he want?

And on top of that, you had already confirmed that, no, your roommate wasn’t going to be home any time soon. In fact, she wasn’t going to be home at all, meaning you’d have the entire night with him alone, undisturbed. 

Sitting here, Armin quietly eyed you, curious and content yet half-lidded and torn by lust. He suddenly silenced your thoughts with a kiss, swooping in hard, teeth clashing, causing you to instinctively grab his face to ease him down. 

The kiss oozed of messiness, an exchange of saliva and wet, meshed-together lips that barely held any rhythm. The feeling consumed you fully—the warmth and fervent press of his lips—as you slowly guided him. 

Lost in the intensity, you instinctively swiped your tongue against his bottom lip. He jolted, pulling away. 

You thought that was so cute of him, seeing him like this. So ironically innocent.

“S—sorry,” he stuttered out, a bashful look on his face. 

Your brows furrowed, worried that you had done something wrong. “Did I go too far?”

“No, it’s just….” He tightened his grip on your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “God, I’m so nervous.”

Squeezing your hands on his shoulders, you reassured him, “It’s okay. We can go slow.” 

“Okay.”

Armin smiled up at you, so sweetly and boyishly—so contradictory to the thoughts you’d been having about him. But even so, he was still nothing like the little boy you’d known. Not when he was gazing at you with that blush, reddened and far-gone, and that glint of lust—that hunger—in his eyes. 

You still couldn’t believe he was here with you. If you’d known you’d be kissing your childhood friend ten years down the line, you’d probably flip out in disbelief. 

But he’d matured so much from then. That boy was nothing like the man under you, holding onto you. Nothing like how tempting and alluring and irresistible he looked right now. 

His palms flexed around your waist, once, then twice, then dragged up the sides of your torso, slowly, almost mindlessly, then back down. Pressed up like this, chest-to-chest, you could feel the racing of his heart so hard that you felt yourself rattling. And even though his hands had stopped shaking, the fast, repetitive thump inside his chest told you more than anything else ever would. 

Sitting in silence, hearts beating out of sync, you let him roam your body like that. Slowly and hesitantly, like he hadn’t quite fully grasped the situation. 

"You're a good friend,” he mumbled quietly, no longer meeting your eyes, fixated on where he was touching you instead. 

Cheeks heating up at the praise, you shuddered with a laugh that sounded a little too strained and nervous. 

You were a good friend? No, he was a good friend. He was the whole reason you wanted to do this in the first place. A good, caring, considerate friend that you would never turn down even if it meant putting your friendship on the line. 

“I trust you. I wouldn’t ask anyone else this,” he continued. 

Breathing in deep, you cupped his face affectionately. “No, please, you’re so good to me. How can I say no to you?” 

His hands stilled, and you could see how his eyes instantly softened. Armin’s right hand fiddled with the hem of your shirt, eyes meeting yours momentarily before darting away. 

“Thank you. So…can we keep going?” 

Your lips lifted into a small smile, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. “Yeah, um. Do you…want to try using tongue now?”

As soon as you’d finished that sentence, you fought down the nervous, embarrassed lump that rose to your throat. It couldn’t get any more straightforward than that. 

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly and nodded.

“Slowly, okay? We’re just gonna ease into it. When I lick your lips, open your mouth a little. And then after that, it’s like…” You swallowed, tensing. “Um, I don’t really know how to explain it. Just try to match me.” 

He gazed at you with so much anticipation that you could almost taste it. Sliding your hands back onto his shoulders, you latched onto his lips again. 

This time, there wasn’t a rush. Just slow, methodical, and relaxed movement as you relished the softness of his lips. You loved this feeling. Soft and sweet, like him. 

His hands began roaming your body again, starting from the sides of your chest down to the tops of your thighs. His palms slightly brushed the outer parts of your breasts, but it was still nowhere close to where you really wanted him.

You took this as a cue to mimic him, hands gliding down to his biceps where you gave him a light squeeze. Even though you knew he worked out, you were still surprised to feel the dips and tautness of hard muscle. It wasn’t that you forgot, it was that you didn’t normally expect it from Armin, someone usually so nice and mellow. 

As you trailed down his stomach, you could feel the defined ridges of his abs under your splayed palms, and you swore you almost moaned. For someone with such a cute face, he had such a strong body. 

When your tongue finally soothed over his bottom lip, he parted his lips ever-so-slightly. And the moment you slipped your tongue in, he let out a small noise that was so, so quiet. Your tongues met, warm and wet. 

You could tell he was hesitant, but you continued at the same pace, slowly licking into him and swiping your tongue over his. He’d completely stilled, hands etching themselves harder into your waist. As you were letting yourself taste him, something tugged on your heart, weighing heavy. 

Because it dawned on you that you were making out with Armin. 

Something so intimate and passionate like this could only be reserved for lovers, not for friends.

Armin reluctantly slipped his hands under your shirt. Just right there, right at the threshold of your torso and not any further, like he was testing the waters. He held you there, only tasting. Your breath hitched, startled by the warmth of his fingers, but the flow of the kiss remained the same. 

The pressure of his tongue was soothing as it moved against yours, and he was getting the hang of it little by little. And the moment it seemed to click—where it felt like you’d reached the perfect rhythm and the perfect amount of energy—you moaned into his mouth to let him know he was doing good. Thank God he was a fast learner. 

Cradling his neck into your arms and threading your fingers into his hair, you rolled your hips into him experimentally, pelvises meeting. You heard him inhale sharply, but he didn’t break the kiss. He only tightened his hold on you, pushing you down slightly as he rolled his hips, matching you.

The friction felt so undeniably good. You knew he felt good, too, because you could feel the area of his crotch stiffen under you.

It was like that for a while, the two of you grinding on each other, so focused on outdoing the other that the kiss wasn’t even a kiss anymore. Just a mix of messy lips and hitched moans and saliva. So much so that you had to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth. 

You were the first to pull away for air. 

“How was it?” he instantly asked, licking his lips. They were swollen, and that gave you the urge to kiss him again. 

“Just a little messy. But good. You did good for your first time.” You laughed. 

He laughed with you, bringing a thumb to swipe over the corner of your mouth. “Sorry about that.” 

Just like that, the two of you shared a cute moment, and you began to think that nothing would change between you—that you two would still be friends and embrace these moments no matter what. 

As the atmosphere from your makeout session died down, you were left with one final thought. 

What now?

“Hey…” you started. You didn’t even know how to word this. Do you know where this is going? Do you even want to keep going? 

You stood up, all too abruptly like you were running on autopilot as your brain tried to catch up with your body, hands detaching from his neck and thighs from his lap. You looked at him warily, wedged between the coffee table and his parted legs.  

Armin frantically stood up, too, half hard in his pants as he reached for your forearm. “Something wrong?”

It was late, you remembered again. 

But now, in this lapse of judgment, you guessed it didn't matter if you should or shouldn't continue. Not when he was staring at you, pleading with his eyes—with his body. You could almost hear his heart thumping out of his chest.

You wondered if he could hear yours, too.

“Um,” you trailed off, wondering how to save yourself.

Before you had the chance to recollect your thoughts, Armin cut you off. “Sorry, um. I mean, I know it’s late…if that’s what you were going to say. I should probably go. You did say I should only stay for a little bit—”

“No—wait, no.” You pressed a palm to his chest. 

Armin subtly tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you had work in the morning?”

“I know, but...” Your eyes trailed down to his crotch, suddenly guilty. “Do you want to stay?”

He regarded you with a look of uncertainty, hands hovering beside your arms like he was about to hold you. “Yeah…?”

“Then…what do you want to do?” It came out in a slight whisper, and you instantly wanted to slap yourself for that question because, one, it was definitely the wrong question. All you wanted was clarity as to whether he knew where this was going, and two, what did you mean by what he wanted to do? 

You could feel his eyes burning into your head, but yours were averted to where the neckline of his tee dipped down to reveal his collarbone.

He gulped. “What do I want to do?” he parroted, breathing in a steady breath. “Um…what do you mean?”

You pursed your lips, knowing you were going to sound desperate. “Was kissing…all you wanted to do?” 

He looked visibly taken aback now, lashes fluttering as his eyes flitted over your form in surprise. 

“No…” 

“Then what?” 

Maybe you really were desperate as you stood here so close to him, pushing your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. 

“Well, I think—I think you know,” he mumbled shamefully. “Don’t make me say it.” 

“Say it. Please? I just want to be sure.”

He pursed his lips, too, while contemplating, flushed a deep pink on his cheeks. “I want us to…go the whole way. I want you.” He cleared his throat. “To teach me.”

For a long moment, you were convinced you stopped breathing. 

It was so loud now. Your heartbeat was so unbearably loud, reverberating and bursting through your ears. A breathless silence filled the room.

He didn't waver. Not once. He only gazed straight into your eyes—straight through you, irises deep and blue and overwhelming and darkened by lust. He'd lost that innocent, bright shine long ago.

The beat of your heart only quickened, even quicker than what it already was.

Was this it? Was this the next step? Was this it after all of those needy kisses and flimsy touches and longing, vulnerable stares? 

Nevertheless, a sense of relief washed over you. You wanted this, too, despite the fact that you were risking something precious to you. Something irreversible.

Not that'd you stop now. 

And then you were onto him, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. He returned it just as quickly, rough and intimate. His hands slid to your waist and held you tight against his body while you clung onto him like it was the end of the world. 

Licking his lips teasingly, you murmured in between the kiss, “My room.” 

He broke away a little, muttering a little “okay” before you cut him off by pressing your mouth back onto his. 

When you pulled away, he surprised you with his next words. 

“Can I carry you?” 

Without hesitation, you lightly jumped onto him, and he caught you, carrying you effortlessly in his strong arms. You loved the feeling of his hands on the back of your thighs, firm and warm. He was so surprisingly muscly that you wanted to squeal. 

The walk wasn’t far in your small apartment space, and you quickly found yourself being placed gingerly onto your bed and your limbs untangling from his body. He stood there like he didn’t quite know what to do. You scooted back onto your pillows, beckoning him to come closer. 

“Get on top of me.” You tugged on the front of his tee. “Like this.” 

He stumbled onto your bed, settling in between your legs as his hands braced him up. You tugged him even closer still, and he fell to his forearms. 

You looked up at him only to find him blushing, a dark, rosy color tinting the apples of his cheeks, watching you with eager eyes as his chest heaved with heavy breaths.

Heat bubbled in your stomach. “Are you sure you want to do this? Remember, this is…this is for you. This is about how you feel.” 

“I’m sure,” he answered quickly. 

Then, Armin kissed you for the millionth time tonight, but this time, it was short yet thorough, like he just missed your taste. 

“Kiss me on my neck,” you urged, craning your head. “Just don’t leave any marks.”

Armin dipped down instantly, but he stilled for the next second, hesitantly staring at your neck. The conviction finally hit him and his lips met your skin, ticklish and titillating and warm. He peppered slow kisses along the juncture of your neck, leaving one long, suckling kiss—one hard enough to make you feel good but soft enough not to leave a mark. You could tell he was unsure about his movements, so you softly grabbed him by the hair to bring him to a specific spot. 

“Right—ah—there. Yeah,” you assured him as he gave another suckling kiss. 

“Is this good?” he asked timidly into your skin, and you could feel the tickle of where his lips moved. 

You hummed in response. “It’s good. You’re doing good,” you replied, words tumbling out of your mouth in an awkward way. 

He pulled away, and his eyes raked over your form, suddenly stopping at your chest. While you should’ve been excited, something else happened. Something like dismay filled his eyes as his brows twitched downwards. 

“Is this Eren’s sweater?”

Oh. 

“Yeah?” you weakly breathed out, voice pitched a higher octave than you’d like.

His eyes flitted back to your face again, still strewn with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but knew wasn’t good. 

“Can I take it off?” he asked, pawing the hem of your sweater. He seemed confident almost, but you knew that the barely discernible, nervous strain in the thrum of his voice gave it all away.

You nodded wordlessly like the air had been punched out of your lungs.

Armin grabbed onto the hem of your sweater with both hands, peeling it off you so slowly that you couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or just simply nervous. Your stomach coiled in anticipation the farther he went, with each inch of skin he revealed. He was so agonizingly slow—or maybe you were so impatient that it felt like time had slowed down—yet the rush of cool air against your torso was instant. 

The moment he reached your bra, your heart seemed to beat out of your chest, and you needed to steady your breathing. 

He stopped and looked for only a minuscule second, as if he didn’t dare to stare any longer, and picked up the pace, pushing the last of your sweater above your raised arms. 

“Pants, too,” you whispered softly. 

With shaky hands, Armin obediently worked them off, past the fabric of your panties, all the way down your legs. 

He’d seen you in a bikini before, but it was different this time. You were laid out all nicely in front of him, clad in a bra and thin panties. On your bed, for him. 

The newfound cold nipped everywhere at your skin, goosebumps prodding up your arms and legs. 

“Take my bra off for me.” You said shakily, turning to your side to give him access. “You know how?” 

He laughed out what seemed to be a mix of a chuckle and a scoff. “I’m sure it isn’t hard.” His knuckles brushed the skin of your back as he took hold of the straps and unclasped your bra. You could feel his hands shaking against your back. “Easy.” 

As he slid it off of you, that heavy feeling in your heart resurfaced, and you began to feel self-conscious.

But it was just Armin, you reminded yourself. 

Your upper body was now completely bare to him. The cool of the air swept over your already-hardening nipples. 

Armin only stared at you. Didn’t say a word. Just outright ogled you with raw, unfiltered desire in his eyes as his hands twitched where they were resting near his thighs. 

You grabbed both of his hands, placing his palms directly on your chest. “C’mon. Touch me.”

Gulping hard, he leaned into you, broad, unpracticed hands cupping your tits, squeezing just once. Then his hands started moving, experimentally pushing and squeezing over the plush of your tits, palms grazing over the peaks of your pebbled nipples. 

You clamped your eyes shut, letting yourself go for the moment. It felt so pleasant, just steady friction against your sensitive breasts. 

Armin’s hands were soft—that much you already knew—just as everything else was about him. But while his hands were soft and gentle, his gaze was hard. He was so fixed and focused on you, blue eyes practically dripping with unbridled lust. 

He cupped your tits again, a soft nudge, then his hands slid down the curve of your waist. You could feel the trail of warmth that his fingers left on your skin. It clung to you even as his hands moved away to rest on your abdomen. His thumbs pressed into your skin so briefly that his touch might’ve been a spasm of a finger as the bottoms of his palms grazed against the hem of your panties. 

The warmth followed down the curve of your hips, down your thighs, and down to your knees. You shifted your legs closer to your body, and his hands quickly cupped the underside of your thighs, squeezing once. 

You knew this was his first time, so you let him explore your body as your hand came to his cheek to pull him down for another kiss. His tongue prodded at your lips, and you happily welcomed it. 

His hands were everywhere now—your thighs, your hips, your waist, your shoulders, your neck, your arms. You could tell he was losing rhythm between keeping up with the kiss and touching you, but you couldn’t care less. 

He pulled away first, leaving a string of saliva hanging between your lips. 

“Armin, play with my….” The embarrassment hit you again. You didn’t even want to finish your sentence, but luckily, he seemed to understand. 

“Oh.” His fingers found your tits again, thumbs swiping over your nipples before he lightly pinched them, tugging them upwards. “Like this?” 

You gasped and squirmed. “Yeah. Like that. Just very lightly. Try rolling them between your fingers.” 

His thumb and index finger met with your nipples, and he did what you told him, twisting and rolling your nipples between his fingers. 

That elicited a little whine from you. “Feels nice.” 

Armin continued his ministrations on you as he alternated between tweaking your nipples and groping your tits whole. It was sensual and quiet, save for the sound of your soft moans.

He suddenly sighed, eyes clouded. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered softly and fondly.  

You didn’t answer. Instead, you smiled at him and let your cheeks heat up from his compliment. It caught you off guard. Because somehow, in a suggestive moment like this, he managed to make it sweet. Judging from the tone of his voice, you knew it was genuine. 

Because he was a genuine guy.

You cupped the back of his head and pushed him toward your chest. “Put your mouth here.” 

He doubled back, eyes wide, but didn’t waste another second to envelop his lips onto your chest. He followed your orders so easily—like a dog to its owner—that you couldn’t help but chuckle at the charm of it. 

For a second, you wondered if he needed guidance, but when his tongue laved over your breast, you only held his head tighter as your back arched off the bed in pleasure. His eyelids fluttered shut, feathery, blonde lashes resting against his cheekbones. He kissed your nipple just as he kissed you, licking and sucking meticulously and thoroughly. 

One of the things that you liked about Armin was that he was such an adaptable learner. Took things he learned and applied them somewhere else. Not that any of this required any big skill, but he just did it so well and so quickly. 

You grabbed his hand and brought it to your other nipple, and he quickly understood, playing with you like he did before.

Suddenly, his teeth took hold of your nipple—just a light graze, and you gasped again. You felt the ache between your thighs throb, shamelessly getting wetter. Where did he learn to do that? 

“Okay, that’s—that’s good.” You tapped his cheek. “Over here now.” 

His mouth unlatched with a pop and he switched to the other breast, repeating the same routine. You felt the remnants of his saliva on your skin mix with the cool air, tingling. 

You were sure your panties were drenched now. Sure that the arousal made the fabric stick to you. 

Armin pulled away, licking the spit from his lips, and looked right into your eyes. “Was that okay?” he asked innocently. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, but you were convinced it came out more as a whine. You clutched a handful of the fabric of his tee. “Off.” 

He sat up straighter, surprised but willing. “Off? Okay, okay.” Armin reached behind him to grab the collar of his T-shirt, and in one swift yank, it came off. He threw his shirt on the floor like the rest of your clothes, and you were left to ogle at his body. 

Your eyes raked over the smooth planes of his chest, his slim waist, and the hard, toned stomach where your hands had previously felt. 

Even at pools and beaches, he opted for T-shirts with his swim trunks. And the last time you’d seen him shirtless, he wasn’t this jacked. 

“I never get to see you like this. You’re so—you’re so built.” The fluster was so evident in your voice as you trailed your fingers down his torso. 

He shyly laughed, pink on his cheeks. “Thank you.” 

“You’re so pretty, Armin.” Before the embarrassment and weight of your compliment caught up to you, you quickly grabbed the hem of his jeans. “Take—take this off, too.” 

You eyed the bulge beneath his pants, hard and begging to be freed. 

You gulped. Now you two were really getting into it—seeing and doing something so intimate. You had no problem undressing yourself, but when it came to him…

He nodded as his hands fumbled with the button and zipper, thumbs slotted in between his waistband as he shakily pulled them down. You helped him get them off, anticipation and nervousness coursing through your veins. 

Once his jeans were off, he seemed even bigger now. You could see the clear outline of his dick straining against his boxers, and it was messing with your head. This was your best friend, for crying out loud. Both of your most intimate places were each just a layer away, just inches away. 

“Fuck, I’m so—” His eyes scanned over you, from the eager expression on your face, to your bare tits, and to your legs that were spread to accommodate him. “You don’t know how hard I am right now.” 

You gulped again. “Yeah?” you teased, palming him through his boxers. 

He sharply inhaled and cursed low under his breath, but before you could go any further, he grabbed your wrist. There was a look of worry on his face—maybe it was desperation, you thought—and you wondered if you did something wrong.

“W—wait. I want to know how to make you feel good.” 

Your face morphed into one of surprise. Armin wanted to please you first. 

You felt the arousal creeping up on you. Felt it soaking your panties again. 

You breathed out slowly, and for a second, the words died on your tongue. He was going to see you fully naked. Only a flimsy piece of fabric away from erasing the line between your friendship and this…whatever this was. 

“Yeah, that’s good. Wanting to please your partner first, that is.” You regained your footing. “Help me take them off?” You eyed him innocently and pulled his hands towards your body until his knuckles touched your panties. 

He stared for a moment—definitely at the wet, darkened patch over your crotch. Armin finally took hold of the hem of your panties, fingers hot against the skin of your pelvis. Unblinking, he pulled them down gently, agonizingly slow. You could feel your slick sticking to your panties and the fabric grazing your almost quivering thighs. In an instant, cool air rushed to you. 

His eyes never left you as he pulled your panties past your knees and ankles, so fixated and eager that he made you nervous. The coil in your stomach returned, tense, like it was moments away from bursting. 

You felt like a virgin all over again. You were embarrassed—even though you knew you shouldn’t be because it was just Armin—and on the brink of clamping your legs together, but you couldn’t because his body was right in between you, even closer than you’d noticed before. 

“God, you’re so…” Armin gulped. He was quiet, muttering to himself, struggling to find his words, and nervously pushing his hair back. It fell back messily onto his forehead. “What do I…what do I do now?” 

Clutching his hand between both of your palms, you shaped his hand into a “thumbs up” sign and brought it to your slit, spreading yourself with one hand. “This is the clit. If you…if you didn’t already know.” 

His thumb grazed over your clit, and a twinge of pleasure shot up your lower body. 

“I know.” 

Armin thumbed your clit some more, swiping circles and pressing down lightly. You could feel yourself get wetter by the second.

“Is this good?” he asked. 

“Mhm. A little faster—oh! Yeah, that’s good.” Your hips bucked as he sped up. “You—you could also use your middle and ring finger.” 

You demonstrated with your hand, and he quickly followed, pressing his fingers onto you again. 

This time, he started off slow and worked his way to match the pace from before. 

“A little lower.” And suddenly you were arching off the bed. “Oh! Wait—”

“Am I doing it right?” he interjected, voice shaky. He was watching for your reaction, blue eyes boring into your face. 

You nodded as the pleasure spread through your lower body. He wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t bad in the slightest. He made you feel good, nonetheless. The pads of his fingers were warm and smooth, rubbing all the right ways against your clit. 

“You wanna move down now?” you asked. 

Wordlessly, his eyes flicked down to your entrance, and the urge to clamp your legs shut returned to you again. You were dripping—you had to be, slick with your wetness pooling around your center. He lingered for a second before his attention diverted back onto your face. 

“Show me how.” He said, adamant. 

“Just know that…” Your fingers ghosted over his knuckles. “You don’t have to necessarily make me cum. This is just to stretch me out. To prep for the real thing.”  

He regarded you with a tiny frown and peered at you hungrily through his long lashes. “What if I want to?” 

Your heart skipped a beat and your stomach simmered with warmth. 

“Well, you can.” You nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure of what to say. Taking his hand in yours, you isolated his middle and ring fingers and held them close to your entrance. As you did so, something tingled and churned inside your stomach. Nervousness, you thought, apprehension, maybe. Not in a bad way, but in the way that every next step with him left you remembering just how private and raw this was. 

“Just like that,” you whispered. 

With a gulp, his fingers slid into your soaked cunt. You were so wet and tight, and you knew he could feel it. Feel it envelop his finger, warm and so, so slick. You instinctively clamped down on him as he pushed further. 

“Oh, God…Y-Y/N,” he all but stuttered out. “Is—is this what it…”

The desperation showed clearly on his face: lips parted, brows knitted, and eyes drooping with lust.

You grabbed his wrist. “K—Keep going.” 

His fingers reached their hilt inside of you, and you had to resist squeezing down on him. He felt like no other guy you’d been with. Because he really wasn’t any other guy. 

He pulled them out swiftly, fingers and knuckles now tainted with the remnants of you. “What—what else?” he choked out. 

The absence of his fingers left you wanting more. With your grip still on his wrist, you tugged his hand closer to your center. “Curl your fingers like this. When you’re inside.” You choked, too, and cleared your throat. “Just keep moving.”

“Like this?” He entered you again, gently, and pressed against a spot inside you that drove your hips to lurch off the bed. 

You nodded weakly, whining. “More.” Your hand on his wrist urged him out, pulling backward. Confused, he slightly resisted. But when you pushed him back in, he seemed to understand the hint.  

Armin pressed into you, thrusting his fingers in and curling them right at that sweet spot that had you gasping out. He slid in and out so easily, guided by the slickness of your insides, and worked slowly, almost teasingly, but you squeezed his arm, encouraging him.

“Right there,” you gasped out. “You’re doing so good.” 

He groaned in response, a borderline moan. “H—Here?” And curled right into your G-spot. 

You let out an abrupt gasp, akin to a stuttered breath, hips bucking upwards as pleasure seeped into your insides. His pace was reckless, but the calculated way the pads of his fingers pushed and grazed against your G-spot had your stomach twisting and your heart racing. 

Beside you, you noticed his other hand fisting the bedsheets. Reaching out, you put a hand on top of his. “You okay?” you asked breathily.

Armin glanced up at you, eyes blown out, pupils dilated in such a starved, animalistic way that looked so out of character. He surprised you by lacing his fingers between yours. 

“Can I kiss you? Please?” 

It caught you off guard, but you didn’t get to register your shock before you were crying loud with a particularly hard thrust. “Please. Please.” You didn’t know why he was even asking. 

Armin’s lips crashed onto yours, capturing you in the most heated kiss of the night. Immediately, he dominated the kiss, all spit and tongue, lips hot and molding together with a firm press. His fingers kept fucking into you relentlessly, filling the room with lewd, wet sounds. 

His other hand held yours still, squeezing once before letting go and landing on your waist. 

“Just wanna feel you,” he mumbled. 

Nodding, you strung your hands through his hair as he caressed your waist and tits. His palms grazed over your nipples, making you shudder and bite back a moan. 

The coil inside your stomach winded tight and kept winding tighter and tighter when his fingers hit that spot again. The pleasure swirled through you, wave after wave, your hips lurching off the bed and your hands gripping his hair even tighter. 

You moaned into his mouth. “So close.” 

He groaned, drawn-out, lips wet with saliva, swallowing the noises that came out of your mouth. 

“You’re doing so good,” you praised. 

Armin whimpered at that—whimpered—and picked up the pace, faster, harder. It was sloppy, but it wasn’t imprecise. He flicked up into you so perfectly until you were stretched out and dripping, and until it finally snapped. 

The coil snapped. 

“Armin, I’m—I’m cumming! Don’t stop!”

“Hol—Holy shit, Y/N—”

The coil snapped, and sweet euphoria coursed through you, rushing through you like open floodgates. You gushed onto him in the same way, cunt fluttering against the thickness of his fingers. The feeling hit you like a truck and filled you whole. 

“Can’t believe this is happening,” he mumbled under his breath in a desperate whine. 

You pulled him into a desperate kiss—or was it that he pushed the kiss onto you?—and he dipped down to embrace you. The twitching weight of his clothed cock brushed against your thigh. It wasn’t intentional—at least you didn’t think, but it only reminded you of what was to come next. 

As he slowed down, you felt your cum leaking down his knuckles and onto the bedsheets. 

“Was that…good?” Armin timidly asked between heavy breaths. Above you, he panted like a dog, even more than you, pretty pink lips parted as if he was the one being fucked. So cute. 

You stayed quiet for a moment, relishing in your subsiding orgasm, fatigued and cozy. 

“Mhm. That was amazing. You did amazing for your first time.” 

He visibly relaxed, slumped back onto his heels, and sighed. “Really? Th—Thank you.” 

Even from above you, he looked submissive, face filled with a desperate need. You giggled at his shyness. The irony of it. “Yes, Armin, you…you just made me cum. That’s…”

Uncertainty weighed down on your tongue. Impressive? Was it really impressive, or should it have been expected from him? A part of you knew that he didn’t need any effort. Not because he was somehow a natural or that he was a fast learner, but that it was him, and that gives your body enough stimulation to push itself off the edge. 

Hazy and blinded by your orgasm and the strong presence between your legs, you stopped yourself from dwelling on it any further.

“Y/N, what do I do with this…?” He lifted his hand, still slicked with your fluids. His middle and ring fingers parted further, and your shiny, milky cum stretched between his fingers. The sight almost made you gape, such a contrast to the curiosity and genuine concern brimming in his eyes. 

“Taste it.”

He sent you a look so incredulous and so quick, those blue eyes widened to the depths as if your suggestion meant total absurdity. “Taste it?”

“Taste it. It’s hot when men do that. Or, you could also make the girl taste it,” you pushed, rising from your spot. You grabbed his wrist, leading it closer to his mouth. 

He hesitated and tensed, but when his eyes met yours, you only leaned in, urging him with a look in your eyes. He complied quietly and stuck out his tongue. 

The sight was lewd. His face reddened impossibly more, up to the tips of his ears, as his mouth engulfed his two fingers wholly. He crinkled his nose so subtly that you couldn’t tell what ran through his mind. He tasted your fluids on his tongue, sucked it for a second, then swallowed. 

Armin’s fingers slid out with a little pop, and you didn’t waste another moment to cup his face and pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself when you pressed your tongue against his. He moaned at the sudden intrusion but melted into you easily. You could already feel his improvement as he reciprocated your energy and licked your mouth so nicely that the naturalness of it baffled you. 

A passing thought in your head told you that this might’ve been too much for his first time, but when he dragged his clothed dick against your clit, you knew he enjoyed this as much as you did. You both shivered a little from the contact, prompting him to pull away.

“So…” he started, voice tiny and breathless. “What’s next?” But the way his eyes darted to your bare, leaking pussy and then to the bulge in his boxers suggested he knew exactly what came next. 

You looked, too. Looked at the tight fit of his boxers on his bulging cock. Something about it—the unexpected size of him—made you giddy. Swelled your stomach with an indescribable weirdness. 

“Take your boxers off.” Though you asked him, you couldn’t stop yourself from sneaking your hands to his hips and taking hold of the waistband. “Can I?” 

He nodded hurriedly and gulped, tension and desperation etched on his face. 

You pulled his boxers down, and with a little lift from his hips, you got them down to his strong thighs. Immediately, his cock sprung up against his abdomen, leaking precum that beaded down his red, aching tip. You licked your lips and gulped involuntarily at the sight because he was just so…

“Big…” you whispered softly. 

“What?” He sounded out of it, like his question hadn’t carried any weight, rubbing a palm over his eyelids and pushing it into his hair. Like he couldn’t believe his eyes. An unspoken awkwardness filled the air as Armin removed his boxers completely. “Is—Is something wrong?” 

He sat in front of you, naked in his entirety. Broad, smooth chest, taut, defined abs, muscly arms, thick thighs, and the softest, sweetest face that did not match the rock-hard, needy cock between his legs. 

“Armin, I…I didn’t know you were so…big.” 

He sputtered out, “W—What? I’m—I’m really not.”

He looked so nervous, so unsure. So sweet and so submissive. Instead of answering him, you wrapped both hands around his dick, lightly squeezed, and swiped a thumb over the slit where his precum spilled. You spread it down his shaft, wetting him with his own fluids. 

“Agh…fuck…” he groaned, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. When you started jerking your hands up and down the length of his dick, his head moved forward and his hands came to cup your face. His hips bucked up with every jerk. You sensed his stare, but you were too occupied playing with his pretty dick.

“You’re so beautiful,” he complimented quietly. He gulped so hard you heard the small breath that followed after. “I wish you could see how you look right now.” 

“Yeah?” you teased, looking up at him between your long lashes. His eyes, lidded and drooping with lust, scanned your body, from your face to where your legs parted and revealed your slit. 

“I don’t think you understand how pretty you are to me.” He inhaled sharply and brought a hand to squeeze the area where his shaft met his head, right over where your hand rested. “I could just cum looking at you.” 

You didn’t expect that from him. He was just so obscenely honest, wasn’t he?

“Y/N.” He suddenly stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “I think—I think that’s good…don’t wanna take the spotlight. I’m here to please you.” 

Your chest warmed at his words, and you fought down the urge to continue pleasing him to release your hands. 

“O—Okay,” you stuttered out, gulping and shivering all in one breath. Your body moved on its own and reached for your nightstand. Deep in the last drawer, stashed behind all of your cluttered knick-knacks, sat an unopened box of condoms. Three, actually.

Shakily, under his watchful gaze, you tore apart a box and unveiled a singular, foiled package. 

"Oh, you have a lot." He stared in mild disbelief, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, eyes crinkling. If you knew any better, you'd think he was smirking under there.

“It's not what it looks like! Sasha gifted it to me as a gag gift. I haven't done anything in a while,” you quickly defended, trailing off quietly at the end. 

He didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the package between your fingers. The air held still, deathly silent beside the sounds of the crinkling wrapper. He had a hand wrapped around the base of his cock, very lightly squeezing. 

“You know how to put on a condom?” you finally spoke up. 

“I think so.” He nodded. 

“Want to do it?” 

He hesitated, and you caught the exact moment an idea clicked in his head. “No. Want you to do it.” 

Something about that riled you up. Something about him watching you. Something about your dainty hands near his aching, needy cock, too impure for the likes of him. 

He whimpered when you started sliding the condom down the length of his cock. The sweet sound of it rang through your ears. Made your heart lurch and your stomach heavy. When you finished, your head lifted to look him in the eyes. His cheeks were flushed so pink you wanted to kiss the color off of them. 

“Ready?” You ignored the way your voice shook, borderline a stutter, and circled your arms around his neck. 

“Yes. Please,” he whined. He was speaking with his eyes—begging with his eyes.

In one fell swoop, you both clambered down onto the sheets. And in this moment, when your eyes met his in a sweet remembrance, it felt like time had stopped, and all the anticipation you’d ever felt plummeted back into the pit of your stomach and built back up all over again. 

He loomed above you, flushed, domineering, and most importantly, nervous.

You only wanted one thing. 

"Please. Need you inside me."

He inhaled a deep, unsteady breath, holding back a whine. 

Then, you felt the tip of his dick brush against the slicked mess of your opening, and you clenched around the empty, ghostly graze. The hands on your thighs pressed into you with a little more pressure at the contact. He was shaking. His whole body was shaking.

“P—Put it in slowly, ‘kay? Don’t want to hurt the other person.” 

Armin listened, and in that final moment of anticipation, he slid in slowly, just the tip. You both gasped at the feeling. You were so, so wet and your heart beat so, so fast and his skin against your skin felt so, so right and so, so warm. The stretch had yet to creep up on you but you were already squirming under his touch. 

He pushed into you, the feeling of him inside warm and fulfilling. He let out a strained “shitttt” as his hands moved to dig into your waist even harder. Eyes squeezed shut, he seemed to lose himself in the pleasure. You could tell by his labored breaths and flushed cheeks that he already was so, so sensitive.

With a final push, he bottomed out, touching a spot deep in you, far deeper than your fingers or his fingers or any other man that had come before him. And God, were you wet. Instinctively, your pussy clenched around him. 

He hissed, pinning you down with his pelvis. “Don’t. Don’t do anything. Please, or I’m going to cum.” 

And then it hit you—that you’d finally done it. That you’d just taken Armin’s virginity. 

You had. 

Shit, you clamped down on him again, and this time, he groaned and abruptly pulled out. 

“Y/N,” he warned, voice drawn with honey. “I am not going to last,” he said, exasperated. 

“It’s okay. It’s your first time.” You placed a hand on his cheek. “Besides, you’re with me. You don’t have to worry about it.” 

He leaned into your touch, nuzzling into your hands, then gave you a small frown. 

“Then how am I supposed to make you feel good?”

“Trust me. You’ll always make me feel good.”

With a cute—yet sinful—smile and a hard swallow, he lined himself up again, hands on your thighs, and gave an experimental thrust.

You whined at the intrusion, reminded again of how he fit so perfectly. How the hardness of his cock dragged so pleasantly against the slickness of your pussy. 

And he did it again and again. Thrusted into you, albeit slowly, again and again. You’d let him intoxicate you again and again until all your body knew was the shape of his cock.

He moved deliberately, relishing every inch sheathed inside of you. He’d pull out with all the time in the world, dick coated in your wetness and eyes locked on where your bodies intertwined, and thrust back in with the most fervor and impatience.

The slowness of it, the intimacy of it—you couldn’t help but buck your hips in hopes of more. 

With soft moans, his thrusts sped up, and without a warning, you felt him fully, the whole weight of him spilling inside of you. His hands slid up to your waist as his head tipped forward. You arched your back into him in a silent plea, finding yourself yearning for his pretty lips, the knot inside of your stomach swelling with pleasure. As if he could read your mind, he drowned your lips in a feverish, hot, kiss, burning your mouth with his tongue. 

Every thrust met with the slap of skin-on-skin and the squelch of your fluids. It echoed through your bedroom walls alongside your muffled, whiny moans. You let yourself sink into the pleasure, letting him know that you felt good—that he made you feel good. 

Because truly, he did nothing wrong; it all felt so right with him. 

As he broke away from the kiss, leaving yet another string of saliva between you two, you took the chance to grab his hand. 

“Play with my body. Like here.” You placed his palm onto your breast, squeezing it with his hand underneath yours. “Or here.” You sensually dragged his hand down to your slicked-up, aching clit. 

Wordlessly, he complied, gulping down a constricted moan that bobbed his Adam’s apple. Armin rubbed your clit like you’d taught him, watching your hips wriggle under his touch.  

As a reward, you tightened around him. Oh, did you like seeing him lose composure. You liked picking him apart. You liked plucking the petals off of this innocent, little flower. And judging from his dazed, barely present expression and the hands gripping hard onto your hips, you knew he liked it too.

He whined again, and the sound rang in the air in a soft whisper. So vocal, wasn’t he?

“Don’t be afraid to make noise. I wanna know how good you feel,” you asserted through lidded eyes. 

Armin hummed a noise of confirmation, but it came out more of a moan as he juggled responding to you and recklessly pounding into you. You could tell he felt good—too good—as did you. 

The ebb and flow of pleasure swam inside you with each fill of his cock into your pussy, waiting to burst. You felt so close yet far away, but you let him experiment, toying with you, trying every angle in both erratic and deliberate ways. 

“Fuck!” you both cursed simultaneously with a perfect thrust into that spot inside of you. Your back arched off the bed unwillingly, arms clasping around his back and nails digging into his skin. 

Armin moaned oh-so-sweetly. “I’m so close!” he panted out, a borderline whine. 

“Cum for me. Please, Armin. Do it.” 

And his hips never stopped. Kept fucking hastily and sloppily into you in chase of his climax and in chase of the sweet yelps pouring out of your mouth. You spurred him on, almost able to taste his final moment. 

But the moment never came. You could hear the relentless, wet smack of your colliding bodies and the mix of low groans and hearty moans tumbling from his lips. His hips still never stopped, still chasing, still tasting. 

You couldn’t believe he lasted this long. He really did want to hold out for you, to make you feel good. 

Mewling again, you tightened your arms around his neck, the warmth scalding but the softness soothing under your fingertips. “Touch me. Please.” 

His fingers pinched your perk nipple before you could even finish your sentence. He rolled the bud around with his thumb and forefinger until he heard you moan, finally laying a palm down to squeeze your entire tit—and squeezed hard. You relished in the way his hand trailed down, slowly, to where he could swipe his fingers over your throbbing clit. 

Right now, all you knew was the shape of his cock. Heat radiated from his body and wrapped around you in a warm embrace. His breath tickled your earlobe, face hovering just above the crook of your neck. 

Oh, please, it felt so good, so intimate. Everything about this. Everything about him. 

"I love you. I love you so much,” he rasped through squeezed-shut eyes.

You looked at him wide-eyed, confused, and spellbound within the haze of lust, so out of that you believed your ears played a trick on you. It slipped out of his lips so wantonly you believed he uttered the words accidentally.

Your room suddenly felt too stuffy and a hundred more degrees hotter. A lone, oddly watchful bead of sweat rolled down your brow. 

It took him only a second of your silence before he started nervously blabbering in your ear. "Um, wait, sorry. Shit. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I got lost in the moment. I’m sorry.” 

He slowly inched away from you, but you paid no mind and pulled him back onto your lips. 

You didn’t care that, caught so deep in emotion and pleasure, he said “I love you” during sex—during his first time, no less. His first time with you. And now, after it happened, you didn’t care to warn him of that taboo. You wanted to selfishly indulge in the possibility that he’d always say it to you, regardless of who he shared his first time with. 

In your pleasurable bliss, you let yourself give in. “I love you too, Armin.”

He pulled away abruptly, your lips pulling apart with a wet click, disrupting the strange magnetism between the two of you. 

"I'm sorry,” he whispered, then kissed you full force. 

His love seeped into every pore of your body when he started thrusting into you again, full and hard and deep and starved. He didn’t spare you a chance to breathe with the way his mouth and cock engulfed you whole. 

A mixture of whines, moans, and smacks filled your bedroom once more. The pounding rhythm between your legs grew sloppier, though still unyielding and energetic. You wanted to cry out, louder than ever and let your neighbors know because everything felt so unexpectedly good. Armin. Your best friend. 

You ran your hands through his already-messed-up, blonde hair. You loved this look on him, a side of him that people never saw. Disheveled, falling apart, and...crazy.

He leaned back on his knees, still moving his hips, lust-filled eyes a dark, stormy blue that raked over your body. 

And he did something you didn't expect of him—like he let it slip, like he couldn't keep his composure anymore. 

He smirked down at you. 

But you were convinced it was a mere twitch in your delirium, disappearing when you blinked. 

His tip brushed your G-spot again, and you finally did cry out. “Right there! D—Don’t stop!” 

Armin groaned in response, choking on his words, and suddenly laved a tongue over the pulse point in your neck. “You feel—you feel so good! I can’t hold…!”

That coil in your stomach thrashed with the need to burst and taunted you with the promise of an orgasm. You felt tight all over, so constricted with pleasure and emotion and heat. 

“Y/N, you’re driving me crazy, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m—”

“M—Me, too! I’m close. Cum for me, please.”  

With one last thrust, he came, moaning loud, spilling hot cum into the condom. You felt him twitch inside you as a gradual warmth filled your insides. 

Fuck, that did it for you. You came right behind him, wrapping your legs around him tight like a vice, white-hot pleasure consuming every vein in your body. In that moment, you kissed him and clamped your eyes shut, focusing hard, your cunt squeezing down on him to wring out the last of his orgasm, fluttering and pulsing so uncontrollably hard. It was like your pussy never wanted to let him go, wanted to relish the last of that feeling of home when his cock rooted deep into your pussy. 

All the while, he spewed praises at you, some dirty, some sweet.

You couldn’t tell how long the two of you took to come down, to stop kissing, for your cunt to stop gushing, and for him to pull out—because it seemed like that moment lasted forever. Your cum coated your pelvis, his pelvis, your thighs, his thighs, and the already-soaked bedsheets.

With bated breaths and shaky hands, he pulled off the condom, tied the latex up, wrapped it in a tissue from your bedside, and threw it onto the floor where it landed among your sparsely scattered clothes. 

Armin slumped down on you, wrapping strong arms around your waist in a suffocating, hot embrace. You gladly welcomed his weight. 

It smelled of sex, sweat, and the dwindling remnants of his cologne.

You laid there, catching your breath. 

You did it. He did it. You finished taking his virginity, and he successfully made you cum during the process. 

And everything left you wondering…

Why was that…good? Sex with a virgin. Sex with your best friend. Did you even teach him enough? Because that was definitely a learning experience for you. The post-orgasm clarity hit you now like a slipper to the face, and you couldn’t wrap your head around what just happened. 

Sleepily, you broke the silence, “Good job, Armin. You did amazing. You’re attentive, a fast learner, and just already so good to me. You made me cum twice. For a virgin.” A hearty laugh parted from your throat as you strung your fingers through his mussed hair. “I guess you aren’t one anymore.”

Armin remained silent. Was he already asleep?

In the quiet darkness, your heart started beating fast, even after the sex. Laying here felt domestic, like somebody made this bed for the two of you to snuggle in tonight, like a real couple. 

Armin, face wedged between your sheets and your shoulder, hugged you impossibly tighter when he shifted to look at you. 

“Thank you. I love you, Y/N.”

He breathed those three words with so much adoration in his eyes, gazing at you longingly beneath his thick, long lashes. The blue of his eyes shone brightly even in the dim lighting and through the hair obscuring his face. 

“I really do love you,” he continued. “Not because of the sex. But because you’re a good friend. Thank you for letting me be vulnerable.”

Oh my gosh. You really didn’t deserve him. You’d exchanged your fair share of sentimental, platonic “I love you’s” to each other, but this one wrenched your heart like no other. Especially after sex. 

He left you at a loss for words. But sleep tugged at your eyelids and your mind screamed at you to clean up and your post-nut clarity still remained unresolved; you couldn’t think of a reply even if you wanted to. 

Even overwhelmed, your heart called out to him and you mustered up something. 

“I’m grateful to have you as a best friend. I love you,” you gritted out. 

Wrong. So, so wrong. Right now, this conversation was getting too emotional for a strictly physical agreement. But you didn’t lie nevertheless, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. 

Feeling grimy, you wriggle under his hold. “We should clean up. It’s good for women to pee after sex.”

As the final rip of the bandaid, he pecked you on your jaw. “I can’t.” 

Your face twisted in confusion, still clouded by tiredness and the daze of lingering thoughts. “You can’t?”

“I can’t help it,” he suddenly mumbled. 

“Armin, what are you—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when you felt something poking your thigh, stiff and hard. 

Armin groaned deep in his chest, the sound rumbling against the shell of your ear as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

The hands that were once wrapped around your body slowly released their hold and grabbed onto your hips, hard and impatient. Armin started rutting into your thighs, dragging you along with him. 

Your heart stuttered for a moment, in disbelief that he could keep going and that you would have to keep going, but your pussy clenched around nothing at the promise of something more.

“Can’t help it. I’m—I’m hard again.” 

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Do or Drink

Synopsis: You never expected a simple game between your new roommates would lead to you in your hands and knees begging for them

Cw: Afab reader, reader is referred to as she/her, exhibitionism, geto and gojo have sex, reader listens to them having sex, masturbation, a little degradation, cum swallowing, overstimulation, breeding, oral(m and f receiving), alcohol, 5.9k words

Satoru x reader x Suguru

“Today drained me” Gojo let out a deep sigh as he entered the apartment and plopped down on the couch.

You were finally moving in with your best friends. After months of searching for an apartment they offered you the guest bedroom in their apartment. You were quick to accept the offer seeing as the search was getting long and tiring.

“All you did was hold the door open” you scuffed watching him spread out and get comfortable.

“And you let it close before we could even get in” Geto said as he placed another box labeled kitchen on the table.

Gojo turned away with a pout “ My arm got tired”

Geto leaned down to kiss his pout from his lips.

“It’s alright my lazy boy, dinner is on you though” he laughed giving him another kiss.

You laughed watching the two go back and forth. This was something normal for the three of you. You would usually come over to hang out with the two and watch as they went back and forth between bickering and showering each other in loving kisses. The dynamic worked so easily for the three of you only now you wouldn’t have to leave early, you’d already be home.

You turned, staring at the mess of boxes. Your smile slowly dropped at the realization that you now had to unpack.

“Don’t worry we’ll help with the unpacking” Geto walked up behind you and slung an arm over your shoulder. It was as if he could read your mind.

Unpacking was hectic. Geto and Gojo bantered for majority of the time. You smiled softly listening to the two. You would now get the chance to wake up and listen to the two call each other silly insults that you knew neither meant. Gojo sighed doing very little apart from standing over your shoulder to sigh about how tired he was. Geto did most of the work seeing as you stopped occasionally to sneak snacks with Gojo. The room was filled with laughter as you all unpacked. By the time Gojo ordered pizza you had determined enough boxes were unpacked to truly relax.

“That was so much” you exclaimed as you took a bite out of your pizza.

“The two of you barely did anything” Geto rolled his eyes as he placed beer on the table for all of you to drink. “I’m surprised your even hungry after all those snack breaks”

“You could have joined us Sugu” Gojo said as if the statement was obvious.

You hummed an agreement too busy chewing to fully focus on the conversation. You continued eating and drinking a couple beers in the process until Gojo’s voice broke through your peace.

“Okay” he clapped to gain your attention. Geto sighed deeply knowing that nothing good would come after his loud attention grabber.

“I propose a drinking game to celebrate y/n moving in”

You and Geto shared a surprised look.

“That’s actually not a bad idea” you said with genuine surprise covering your faces.

“That’s a first” Geto whispered.

Gojo pushed Geto playfully as he got up to prepare the game. You turned to Geto knowing that nothing good would come from this game. Gojo called for the two of you to join him in the living room with a singsong voice.

“You’re too excited that scares me” you laughed as you sat down across from him taking one of the beers he brought out to drink.

“Does fun scare you” he asked as he laid out the cards.

You gave him a bored look scuffing at his childish comment. Being around Gojo brought out your child like wonder while Geto seemed to balance you with maturity.

“Whats the game?” Geto asked as he sat down and leaned against the wall.

Gojo stood up to dramatically announce the game.

“The game my friend and my beautiful lover,” he said making kissy faces at Geto “ is do or drink”

His dramatic nature made you laugh. He sat down across from you on the floor next to Geto. The game was quite simple. You were given a dare and if you chose not to do the dare you had to drink. You were nervous to say the least. Games like this usually lead to drunk bodies fumbling around doing drunk things. Laughter filled the room as the three of you went back and forth between doing wild dares and drinking when a dare too crazy was asked.

“Suck the banana! Suck the banana” Gojo chanted.

You were given a dare to perform oral on a banana. You were a laughing mess, way past tipsy. You licked the tip of the banana in a sultry way. Your tongue swiveled around the banana as your eyes locked with the two men sitting in front of you. They were starring at you with an intense gaze. You slid the banana into your mouth amazed at yourself when you didn’t gag. You push the banana deep humming as it touches the back of your throat. Their eyes were wide watching you. Something about being seen doing something so lewd sent a heartbeat to your core. You pushed your legs together forcing friction between your legs. You pulled the banana free from your mouth slowly. You stuck your tongue out and licked the tip one final time before you looked up at the blushing faces that were staring at you.

“Somebody has a lot of practice in that field” Gojo whispered before clapping at your performance.

You laughed as you took a bow feeling ease with their validation. The game continued and you felt your body getting heavier. Any remaining shyness was gone. The game seemed to go on for hours with empty bottles of beer scattering the floor and game cards littered next to them.

“It’s your turn” Gojo spoke pointing to you.

You picked up a car and read it silently. Your eyes grew wide and immediately flew to the eyes staring waiting for you to read the card out loud.

“I don’t know if I should do this” you said quietly with a nervous smile.

“Ooo is someone scared?” Gojo taunted you

You rolled your eyes and turned away.

“I’m not scared!” you slurred your rebuttal “I have to kiss the person to my left” your words grew quiet towards the end of your sentence.

All eyes landed on Gojo who was smirking staring at you. Your eyes landed on Geto who seemed to be thinking hard.

“I think you should do it” Geto spoke up leaning back smirking.

Your eyes almost popped out with surprise at his statement. Kissing Gojo was the last thing you thought you would be doing tonight. You sat , thinking maybe you should just drink but you were far too drunk to drink anymore. You sucked on a banana in front of the two, what harm would a simple kiss do. You crawled over to Gojo who sat smirking waiting for you. Geto’s eyes followed your movements watching with an intense gaze. You reached Gojo and placed a hand on his cheek. Your lips pressed against his with a small peck before you pulled away. You looked at Gojo who still had his eyes closed.

“Ah come one you can do better than that.” You turned to see Geto watching with his head sitting in his hand with an almost bored look.

You turned back to Gojo whose eyes were now on you with a patient look. You let out a nervous sigh before you pressed your lips against his. His lips were soft and so easy to fall into. Your lips moved against his and you found your body pressing into him.His hand smoothed down your side to your hip and squeezed softly. You let out a soft hum at the feeling of his hand against your skin. The kiss deepened and you began to get more into it. Your lips parted and he took his chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. You sucked on his tongue earning a soft moan from him. His other hand came up to grab the back of your neck pulling you deeper into him. You felt yourself being surrounded by Gojo’s essence. He tasted sweet and you were craving more. You had almost forgot about the eyes that watched the two of you kiss with an intense gaze. Geto sat up with a smirk appearing on his lips. His tongue slid across his bottom lip and a tent began to grow in his pants. Your tongue danced against Gojo’s fighting for dominance. Gojo was determined to win this battle. A string of moans fell past both your lips as the kiss became more intense. Gojo was the first to pull away. You followed after his lips completely forgetting where you were. You opened your eyes quickly at the realization. You brought your hand up to your mouth almost lost in a daze. The kiss was more than what you thought it would be. You felt yourself feeling warm all over. Your core was aching to be touched. You never thought a kiss with Gojo of all people would make you feel such a way.

“I think thats a great way to end the game” you laughed nervously as you stumble to stand up. You picked up your empty bottles to throw them away. The walk to your felt like walking through a hallway that could not stop moving. Your mind was covered in thoughts of gojo’s lips and the smirk that covered Geto’s face when it was all done. You sat on your bed with your fingers pressed against your lips. Gojo’s ideas were never ideas that anyone should trust.

You sat laid in bed waiting for the room to cease movement when pouding from the other side of the room came flooding through the walls. The one thing about living with Geto and Gojo was that the walls were as thin as paper. Your thoughts were cut off by a low deep groan coming through the wall. You sat up wondering if you were mistaking the noises you were hearing. There was a creaking of a bed and what seemed like a soft whimper coming from behind the wall. You placed your hand over your mouth now completely sure of the noise you were hearing. Your new roommates were fucking in the room next door. You could hear them as if you were in the room with them. A small voice came through the wall groaning about how tight his hole was. You felt embarrassed at the fact you were hearing this. You were even more embarrassed at how wet the sounds were making you. Your mind drifted off to the though of Geto dripping with sweat thrusting into his partner moaning about how he couldn’t get enough.

“Shh no no no” you slapped your head as an attempt to erase the lewd thoughts from your mind.

These were your best friends, your roommates, nothing more than that. It was wrong of you to think of them in such a way. It was even more wrong to touch yourself to those thoughts and noises. You couldn’t help yourself maybe too overcome by the alcohol. You hands moved on their own accord slipping into your underwear to circle around your clit. Each moan you heard from the other room left you desiring more. Any embarrassment was gone with the need to arrive at your orgasm at the same time as the two on the other side of the wall. No one would have to know about how you slipped your fingers inside of yourself and fucked yourself to Gojo’s needy moans. Little to your knowledge Geto’s ears could hear everything that went on in the house. No one needed to know but he knew.

Living with the two was hectic but it was something you couldn’t deny made you feel happy. The week that you had been staying there felt like a month. You were already getting used to the two bickering like children, the constant movie nights that Gojo would suggest and even the delicious breakfast Geto made. Your time staying with the two was full of good moments. They two loved having you. It was like a sleepover that never ended as Gojo continuously called it.

You sat in your room with music playing as finishing unpacking the rest of your things. Moving was a lot and you found yourself busy half the time to the point where you weren’t able to finish all of your unpacking. You unloaded box after box and began putting up your decorations. You smiled looking around, the room was finally coming together. The lights that you draped against the walls just needed batteries, the one thing you did not have. You walked out the room to the room next door, entering it without knocking. Your eyes grew wide at the sight before you. Gojo was turned away from you completely naked bouncing on Geto’s cock. Geto sat facing the door lips pressed against Gojo’s ear nibbling softly. Gojo’s moans paired with Geto’s grunts were filling the room. Geto’s eyes locked with you and you felt frozen in place. His hand gripped the fat of Gojo’s ass guiding him up and down on his cock.

“Mmh you like how it feels getting filled with my cock don’t you” Geto groaned eyes stilled locked with yours.

“Such a needy thing” it was as if the words were meant for you “You need my cock don’t you, you need to be stuffed to the brim huh” The words were whispered into Gojo’s ear but seemed to crawl towards you. His hand came down onto Gojo’s ass roughly and your eyes seemed to follow the recoil.

You shut the door quickly before finally finding the will to move. It was as if Geto had you in a trance. You walked to your room, the scene replaying in your head like a broken record. You were almost ashamed at how they had such an effect on you. This wasn’t the first time you were completely losing yourself for the two. You never felt this way before you moved in so why now. Your mind replayed the way Gojo held his head back riding Geto calling his name with silk like moans. Geto’s piercing gaze seemed to trap you where you stood and for some reason you didn’t mind. You were feeling pent up. You hadn’t had sex in ages and seeing those two getting each other off seemed to worsen how you were feeling. You took deep breathes attempting to regain your composure but the sounds of Geto groaning Gojo’s name through the door wouldn't let you catch a break.

“Ugh you guys are gonna be the death of me” you whispered the words as you walked to your room.

You could go without the batteries for now.

The next day felt drawn out. You had nothing planned for the day and packing was all done. You laid in bed sighing boredly. You were close to taking a nap until you heard Gojo’s voice calling your name dragging out each syllable. You sat up and dragged your feet to their room this time knocking before daring to enter.

“Come in” Gojo called

You opened the door to them sitting on the bed passing a bottle of alcohol.

“Since when do you knock” Geto smirked

You bit your lips remembering the night before.

“Sorry…about that” the words felt horrifying coming from you. You wanted to hide away from embarrassment.

“Did you enjoy the show ?” Gojo’s teasing voice broke past your thoughts.

Your voice was caught in your throat. If you were embarrassed before you wanted to melt into a puddle now. This was nothing new for them to tease you but it felt like you were standing in front of a crowded arena with thousands of beady eyes watching you.

“Is this what you called me for” you asked rolling your eyes.

Geto laughed at the way the two of you went back and forth.

“No, we want you to join us sit” he patted the spot beside him on the bed. Their faces were covered in tipsy smiles.You sat down and Geto handed you the bottle. You took a sip only to grimace at the bitter taste

“You guys trying to kill me?” you choked out gagging at the taste.

The two laughed at your reaction before Geto snatched the bottle and drank it as if it were juice.

“It was his idea to drink this mess but I wanted you to join me in this torture” Gojo said

He was never really much of a drinker apart from a beer or two here and there. One sip of alcohol could have him falling over like a giraffe. You took the bottle wanting to catch up to them.

“Im bored let’s do something” Gojo let out a dramatic sigh as he laid back spreading himself out on the bed. His long legs dangled off the bed while the other laid across your lap.

“Let’s play a drinking game” Geto proposed “I mean we’re already drinking might as well have some fun with it”

You bit your lip remembering the last time you guys playing a game. The feeling of gojo’s lips pressed against yours seemed to flood your memory.

“Uh I-” you started only to be cut off by Gojo whining.

“Ugh don’t be like that it’ll be fun, promise” he sat up with his face close to yours

“You might even get to kiss me again” his eyes darted down to your lips “I know how much you liked it”

You pushed him away rolling your eyes

“You wish. Lets just play”

Cards were laid out on the bed messily. You were laughing watching Geto draw a tramp stamp on Gojo as a dare.

“What is it?” Gojo asked trying to turn his head to see but failing to do so.

Geto pushed his face back and continued drawing.

“Be patient” he groaned.

His tongue was poking out as he focused on the drawing.

“That’s actually really good” you were shocked staring at his masterpiece.

“You know I wanted to be a tattoo artist for a while” Geto said as he finished the final touches.

“And done” he sat up and let gojo look in the mirror.

Gojo turned smiling brightly before pulling Geto into a hug yelling about how cute it was.

“It’s a butterfly” he yelled “And it matches my eyes” he leaned over to give Geto a kiss. You smiled at the two admiring their love.

“Alright you love birds it’s my turn” you loudly proclaimed.

You picked up a card and your eyes blew wide as you read it. It seemed to be an ongoing theme of your getting ridiculous cards for the night.

“Well don’t leave us hanging read it out loud” Geto’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Strip ”

A chorus of O’s played through the room. How is it that you manage to get cards that always end in you doing something you would never usually do. You let out a heavy sigh.

“Hey how about we make it fair , if you strip we’ll do it too. Right Sugu?” Gojo turned to Geto who was silently nodding his head with a small smile plastered on his face. You looked at the two nervously. You stood up and slowly pulled your sweats down revealing lacy underwear that you had forgotten you were wearing. The boys eyes were locked on your slow movements. Your skin looked so soft and pretty with the pink panties you were. You lifted your shirt to reveal a matching bra to which the boys leaned forward intrigued by the sight.

“Oh my oh my” Gojo whispered a smirk daring to appear.

“Well take it off you two, you said I wouldn’t have to be alone” you said covering yourself suddenly feeling embarrassed under their gaze.

They simultaneously began stripping down to their underwear. You never really paid attention the the two but their bodies were obnoxiously toned. You couldn’t help the way you stared with your jaw low practically hypnotized by the sight.

“You’re drooling love. Take a picture if you want.” Geto teased

You grumbled at the comment

“Please you’re not all that” you knew you were lying. The two were like gods, face and body, but you would never admit that to them.

The game continued and the bottle of alcohol that was being shared was half way empty. Clumsy hands passed the bottle around as laughter filled the room. Your low lidded eyes watched the two bodies across from you giggle and press soft kisses to each others forehead. Any other person would have felt like a third wheel intruding in on a private moment but this was such a natural occurrence that it felt normal.

“Okay who’s turn” you slurred feeling the alcohol slowly creeping up on you.

Gojo took a sip from the bottle and placed it on the dresser next to him before loudly shouting it was his turn. He picked up a card and smiled brightly.

“Kiss the prettiest person in the room” he smirked looking up and you and Geto.

Geto shook his head and grabbed Gojo’s jaw pulling him in.

“This isn’t perks of being a wallflower” he pressed his lips against Gojo’s in a delicate kiss.

The kiss was short but you could tell the two wanted more.

“Ah come on you can do better than that” you spoke up mocking Geto from when you were dared to kiss Gojo.

Geto smirked knowing exactly what you were referring to. He gripped the back of Gojo’s neck and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. The kiss was hungry. It was as if the two were desperately waiting for this moment. Gojo’s hands massaged Geto’s skin as he leaned forward to deepen the kiss. His hands moved up Geto’s thighs earning him a soft moan from the other.

Your eyes were wide as you watched the pair. It was as if they had completely forgotten that you were in the room. You couldn’t seem to move. Your eyes were stuck in a trance watching the way Gojo’s hands moved up Geto’s legs. He was so close to the growing bulge in his underwear and you couldn’t help but silently hope that he took it a bit further. They pulled apart and you were brought out of your trance. You looked around the room suddenly finding interest in the walls and ceiling.

“It’s okay if you like to watch but it’d be so much better if you joined” Gojo’s voice was low as he stared at you with lust filled eyes. You stared at the two feeling hesitant but slowly crawled over to them. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care about the game cards only thinking of the two boys waiting for you. You kissed Gojo softly. His lips were just as soft as you remembered . It was hard to pull aways from him but Geto’s voice grabbed your attention.

“My lips are just as soft as his” he smirked at Gojo “Probably even better” He pulled you in for a kiss. His lips tasted like cherry. You craved the two of them. You pushed deeper into the kiss and wrapped your arm around his shoulder. Something had taken over you removing any nervous thought in your head. Gojo’s hand massaged your thighs making you feel warm all over. Between Gojo’s hands touching you inching closer to your core but never really touching you there and Geto’s lips dancing in sync against yours you were becoming more and more desperate for them. You pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath. Gojo took this as his chance to pull you into his lap with his chest pressed against your back. His lips found their way to your shoulder while his hands played with the lacy material of your underwear. Geto pressed his lips against yours while Gojo’s lips sucked licked your neck in a repeated pattern. Gojo’s hands moved to your chest massaging gently. You moaned at the attention they were giving. Geto pulled away meeting your low lidded eyes.

“You willing to go this far darling?” his hand rested on your thigh,fingertips close to your core.

You stared at him and nodded your head slowly.

“Mm no no no we need to hear you say it, use your words” his voice grew lower “I know you can do it”

Your heart felt like it might burst from your chest.

“Yes” you whimpered

The two shared a dark look before Geto yanked you up from Gojo’s lap. He was able to maneuver you as if you were a doll. He had you on your hands and knees facing Gojo while he massaged the fat of your ass. He leaned down and pressed his lips against your ear.

“You know the traffic light system right” Geto’s voice flew through your ear, you almost forget to answer.

You nodded your head eagerly.

“What did I say about those words?”

You whined at his response. Your thoughts were all over the place. Geto’s hand gently massaged your ass leaving you desperate to be touched.

“G-green means keep going, Yellow means slow down and Red means stop” you voice was shaking as you said the words. You were overcome with a mix of emotions.

Geto hummed satisfied with your answer.

“Good girl, now open wide, we’re gonna stuff this pretty little mouth of yours.” Geto gripped onto your hair while Gojo pulled his cock free stroking it.

“Look at that, she’s fucking drooling for your cock baby” Geto’s voice was a teasing tone “You gonna give it to her? I think she should beg for it don’t you”

Gojo looked down at you biting his lip. His blue eyes stared deep into yours with an expecting gaze.

“Ple-please” you stuttered out “Please I want your cock so bad” Your eyes watched his hand stroke himself with a look of hunger. You wanted it to be your mouth getting him off.

“Aw, she’s so desperate Sugu” Gojo held the tip of his cock against your lips rubbing the precum over them.

“You can have me baby, only because you sound so pretty when you beg”

He pushed his cock between your lips groaning at how warm your mouth was. His hands moved to the sides of your head as he found a steady pace. His cock stretched your mouth out so perfectly. He fucked himself deeper into your mouth groaning when he reached the back of your throat.

“Fuck your mouth is so perfect” he let out a deep sigh.

Geto moved behind you and slid your panties down. His hands moved to spread your asscheeks giving him a perfect view of how your hole clenched around nothing. His tongue licked a long strip between your folds earning him a muffled moan.

“Fuck it feels so good when you moan around my cock” Gojo groaned “Keep doing that keep-fuck keep licking her pussy for me please” His moans turned into soft whimpered as his thrust picked up speed. Geto’s tongue lapped at your cunt messily eating you out. Between Gojo’s rapid thrust and Geto lapping at your pussy as if it was his last meal you were falling apart for them. Your muffled moans cause Gojo’s eyes to roll back. His moans fill the room matching your muffled ones.

“Shit you’re gonna make me cum” he groaned

Geto pulled away from your cunt breathing heavily eyes heavy with lust.

“She taste fucking amazing. You want a taste baby?” he leaned over to Gojo kissing him deeply. Geto’s hand wrapped around Gojo’s throat while he shoved his tongue into his mouth. The kiss was messy and you loved every second of it. You bobbed your head on Gojo’s cock desperate to hear his moans again. Geto pulled away and looked at Gojo

“You taste just as good”

Geto leaned behind you and kissed the fat of your ass. His hand came down smacking your ass cheek roughly. You jolted from the sudden spank whimpering as a result.

“Oh you like that dont you” he sat up and let his fingers massage between your folds. “You’re such a nasty girl letting us do whatever we want to you like this”

He slipped to fingers inside of you smiling at the way you arched you back at the feeling.

“I bet you were just dreaming about this” his fingers moved at at steady pace fucking into you.

“Oh I know she has” Gojo let out a laugh “She’s probably been fucking that sloppy pussy at the thought of our cocks.”

Geto groans at gojo’s words.

“So fucking filthy, thinking about your best friends like this” Geto’s fingers felt so thick filling you up.

Your thoughts were caught between Gojo fucking your mouth full of his cock, the filthy words that were spilling past their lips and the way Geto’s fingers filled you so deliciously. You felt yourself on the verge losing your mind without even having them fill you up. You rocked back and forth on Geto’s fingers chasing after your own orgasm.

“Look at how desperate she is fucking herself on your fingers sugu” Gojo held your head in his hands while he thrusting into your mouth as his eyes stared at how you grinned down on Geto’s fingers with an incredious look.

“She so fucking needy her pussy is drooling on my fingers” Geto’s tongue slithered across his bottom lip.

His hand held onto your hip while his fingers picked up speed at a brutal pace. The sounds of your cunt filled the room like music to their ears.

“You gotta cum on my fingers before you get this sloppy hole filled you understand” Geto’s voice was a low growl.

Your legs shook with anticipation. You were desperately chasing after an orgasm. You felt pure bliss feeling his fingers reach spots you could never reach.

“Aw you’re close aren’t you. Go ahead, cum on my fingers. Cum on my fingers so we can stuff this wet hole full with our cocks.”

His words sent you over the edge. You felt your juices dripping down your legs as Geto continued thrusting his fingers into you fucking you through your orgasm. Your choked moans could be heard even with Gojo continuing his brutal pace of fucking your throat.

“Ah your shaking so much. You think she can handle a cock Sugu?”

Geto smirked looking down at how your hole clenched around his fingers sucking him in.

“I think she can handle two” he smirked at Gojo.

Gojo pulled his cock free from your mouth hissing at the sudden release. You sucked in a deep breath still reeling in from your orgasm.

“What’s your color love?” Gojo’s voice was soft.

“Green” your voice was raspy.

The two smiled at each other. Gojo kneeled down bringing you in for a deep kiss.

“I want her mouth you can take her pussy” Geto said as he pulled his fingers out of you.

You let out a soft whimper. You needed to be filled.

“Please I need you to fuck me” you whimpered looking up at Gojo.

“I didn’t know you were such a needy thing” Gojo chuckled “don’t worry I’ll fill this pussy with all my cum okay”

He walked around to position himself at your entrance. Geto stood behind him and wrapped his arm around him to stroke his cock.

“How bad do you want his cock?” Geto asked while his hand stoked Gojo at an achingly slow pace.

You arched your back to put your ass in the air.

“I need it so bad.” You begged “ please fuck me please I need you to fill me up”

You never knew yourself to beg but you were desperate for their cum in the moment.

Gojo head lulled back onto Geto’s shoulder hearing your pleads. He thrusted into Geto’s hand as his whimpers filled the room.

“Please let me fuck her pussy, I need it so bad.” He whined in Geto’s ear.

“Aww you need her pussy that bad baby, well let me help.”

He moved Gojo’s tip to your entrance and slowly pushed his hips into you. Gojo let out a low groan while his eyes rolled back at the feeling of your warmth wrapping around you. Geto’s hands moved Gojo’s hips guiding his cock in and out of you. Both your and Gojo’s moans filled the room. Your legs were shaking from how thick and long he was.

“Does her pussy feel good baby” his voice was silky as he whispered the words in Gojo’s ear. Gojo was panting, nodding his head.

“S-so good” he was drowning in euphoria at the feeling of his cock sliding against your walls.

Geto moved to your mouth. He grabbed your chin making you meet his eyes.

“Open up for me baby”

He placed the tip of his cock at your mouth and slowly pushed himself deeper into your mouth. The two of them began thrusting in and out of your holes. Your body jolted back Ned forth between the two of them . Geto’s hand gripped your hair and moved your head along his cock groaning at how your throat squeezed around him.

“Fuck, you didn’t tell me her mouth was this good” he groaned.

Gojo chuckled “her pussy feels so much better.”

They talked as if you were in the room. Their thrust were synchronized as they fucked you. You felt yourself losing your mind at having both holes filled. Your body felt weak. You knew your were coming close to another orgasm. Your legs trembled as Gojo’s cock pressed against the perfect spot. Your moans were choked,caught in your throat with Geto’s pace of fucking your mouth. You were completely gone with the only thing running through your mind being their cum drooling out of both your holes.

Gojo’s pace was slowly growing reckless. His hips stuttered as they fucked into you. His moans were turning into whimpers. Geto was trying to keep his composure but his groans turned into deep growls as he neared his orgasm.

“S-shit I’m about to cum you close baby?” Geto’s voice cracked

“So close oh fuck I’m so close” he whimpered “ Her pussy is practically sucking me in I know your close cum with us sweetheart, make a mess on my cock please”

You didn’t realize you had it in you to cum so much. Your orgasm flooded over you like a wave. You had never felt so out of body before. They followed close after you groaning and moaning as they each fucked your holes full of cum. Heavy breathing filled the room as their thrust slowly came to a stop. Geto pulled out of your mouth eyes locked in at how his cum dropped down your chin. His finger scooped it up and placed it on your tongue. You sucked without even thinking as if it came natural to you. Gojo pulled out smiling brightly at the way his cum drooled from your hole. Heavy breathing filled the room. You slumped down onto the bed turning on your back to face the ceiling.

“We should play this game more often,” Gojo said cheerfully.

You laughed nodding your head in agreement. Geto looked at Gojo both of them seeming to share the same menacing look.

“I think Satoru should clean you up.” He leaned down to peck a kiss to your forehead. “It wouldn’t be fair for us to just leave you full of cum.” He turned to Gojo who was already leaning at your entrance, eyes hungry. He walked over to kneel next to him

“Maybe I should help him, just to make sure he does the job right.”

You looked at your two best friends sitting eagerly between your legs.

“Just sit back we’ll take care of you”

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