An Unorthodox Present // Yandere Endeavor X F! Reader

An Unorthodox Present // yandere Endeavor x f! Reader

partially based on an ask i got, thanks Taco anon! I wanted to try and do something for Enji’s birthday. Happy day of birth you colossal flaming fuckhead

tags for drunk sex / dubcon, paizuri / titjob / busty reader, blowjob, dirty talk, manipulation, kidnapping sorta? i actually wrote him pretty soft for most of this tbh, but i hope you guys at least enjoy the read!

———-

Well, Enji supposed he should be used to this by now. Being alone, on his birthday no less, Fuyumi being the only of his children who bothered to call to send her best wishes while he was still at work. Something about today made his large office feel all the more desolate, cold, lifeless.

It’s… actually kind of sad, if he were to be honest.

The unnerving, festering silence is interrupted by a knock at the door, and the Flame Hero forces himself to sit upright into a professional, respectable posture before calling out. “Come in.” His words seem to all but boom and echo off the walls as a figure enters, and there’s an instant improvement to his mood. It’s you, a fairly new Professional Heroine whom he had scouted after graduating from UA, strong and dedicated. You had managed to make the list of people he held respect for, and trust him, that was a very short list.

“I heard some of the others say that it was your birthday today?” You begin, the man taking note of the way your hands lingered behind your back as you approached his desk. “Yes, it is. Why do you ask?” Endeavor asks with a level tone, trying to ignore the tittering of his heart as you now stood before him, restraining himself from raking his eyes over the lovely figure that was complimented ever so nicely by your Hero costume. Blue eyes briefly flit to your hips and thighs as you shift from one foot to another, quiet for a bit, before finally bringing out a small box that you placed on the polished wooden surface. It was on the smaller sized, a wrapped little thing with one of those lids that could simply be taken off, a bright red bow topping the gift like the strawberry on a cake.

“I know it isn’t much, but I wanted to get you something to show my appreciation.” It feels like there’s fire in his cheeks as you give the man a pretty smile. “Happy Birthday, Endeavor sir.”

Seguir leyendo

𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬

࣪𖤐 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : timeskip! yuuji itadori x fem! reader

࣪𖤐 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 : nsfw content, minors dni, both itadori & reader are in college, fingering, friends with benefits, teasing, female! reader, reader is megumi’s sister, unrequited feelings, slight angsty ending. this was originally posted on @/lunarmins, my old blog

࣪𖤐 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : this is a repost but a fic that's very dear to my heart. there is definitely a part 2 due for this fic that I'll write sometime once my semester settles down but for now enjoy!! ꒰ ˆ ꒵ ˆ꒱

"𝑾𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫𝑵'𝑻 𝑩𝑬 doing this."

A simple phrase that’s passed over not only your lips but Yuuji’s, more than a thousand times before. It holds no weight anymore, heeds no warning, rather becoming nothing more than an empty saying to remind the two of you of the situation you find yourselves in.

It always ends like this, doesn't it? You should’ve known from the start that sneaking a boy into your house behind your older brother’s back, his best friend of all people, wasn’t going to end well. The countless stories you’ve heard and read should’ve proved enough to deter you from the idea, but here you find yourself again, standing in front of your bedroom window, curtains pulled aside as you stared at Yuuji on the other side glass.

Moonlight decks his light hair in a silver halo, his lips spread wide in a grin that’s unmissable, even among the darkness. This had become routine, one that you slipped into comfortably because that's what he brought you, comfort, warmth, familiarity.

He shouldn’t.

He shouldn’t be making you feel all this, yet he does.

It all started with a messy, accidental kiss on a night you both were a little past tipsy. It was a memory long locked away, but the aftermath that followed was what led you to where you find yourself right now. For weeks afterward, you couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, how his lips felt against yours, the way he tasted like the faint tint of the strawberry chapstick he used. And Yuuji felt the same.

One drunken kiss was replaced with a sober one the night Yuuji came over with Nobara and a bunch of his other friends for a movie night. You had bumped into the pink-haired man as you were leaving the bathroom, bodies brushing against each other, eyes wide and breaths mingling. It was a moment of hesitation before his head ducked down to capture your lips with his own. You should’ve stopped then and there before things grew too heated, but he was addicted to saying the least. You couldn’t get enough of him, and he couldn’t get enough of you.

Hooking up with your brother’s best friend was the last thing you expected to come out of this, but who were you to complain? None of the college boys you had fooled around with in the past had been able to fuck you as good as he did. Despite not having the most experience when it came to things in the sexual field Yuuji was an eager and fast learner that managed to rip orgasm after orgasm from your body with ease. The very first time he made you cum was in the bathroom when Megumi invited him to a sleepover one night, one of your thighs slung over his shoulder and his tongue slobbering across your folds while you tangled your fingers in his hair. From that moment on the two of you knew you were hooked on each other.

It's with a sigh that you open your bedroom window, just like you’ve done countless times before to let Yuuji slip inside, shushing him when he wobbles, threatening to trip over a pair of shirts on the floor. He shoots you a pained, apologetic expression before he trails over to your bed and plops down on it, stretching himself out like he's been here a thousand times before.

“Is your brother home?” he asks, to which you shake your head, still awkwardly lingering close to the window. He studies you for a moment or two before he pats his lap invitingly. “C’mere…”

Begrudgingly you step closer, letting Yuuji’s firm arms wrap around you, effortlessly lifting you into his lap. Barely a moment passes before his lips are against your skin in a heated mess of kisses, littering them along the expanse of your exposed skin as you squirm in his lap. He sighs, nosing against your pulse point as your hands card through his hair, feeling the tension of the day slowly seeping from his muscles, melting in your touch.

"What's got you so tense, baby?" Yuuji asks you, brows slightly furrowed as his hands map your skin, feeling you up, all the way from your waist down to the small of your back. He did know you better than anyone else did and sometimes you did hate him for it. "Hm?" he presses.

You let out a heavy sigh, one that seems to carry the weight of the world, hiding your face in the crook of his neck and shoulder so he didn't have to see your face. But even so, Yuuji knows you too well, knows the dips and curves of your body, the ups and downs of your emotions - sometimes it frustrates you because you could never get away from hiding anything from him.

“I dunno,” you try to play dumb, hoping you could throw him off your trail. But truth be told you knew what was wrong, you’ve been at war with your feelings for the last couple of weeks, ever since you had spent the night at his place after a midnight call and a heated hookup. He had insisted you stay with him because he didn’t want you driving home in the dark, somehow swaying you into staying in bed with him.

Just thinking back at it has heat stirring in the pit of your stomach, a feeling of unfamiliar warmth blooming in your chest. Something about that night felt so right, the way he pulled you into his arms, cradled you close as the two of you drifted off to sleep, the care and tenderness he put behind every word, every thrust, every kiss…

Yuuji’s eyes study your face as a thick silence stretches over the two of you. You wished he’d stop looking at you like that, with wide eyes that always glinted with softness, those eyes of his that poured out every emotion he felt, even if he tried to hide it. He was an easy book to read, just like you, but the two of you danced around the very page you were stuck on. Were you strictly just friends with benefits or was there something more happening behind the scenes that neither of you wanted to admit to?

“You don’t wanna think for a while, huh? Want me to take your mind off things?” he asks you, his tone as soft as ever as his hands rub your hips, gliding along the skin where they’ve snuck under your shirt. You always crumble like putty in his hands and find yourself nodding perhaps a little too eagerly. “Alright, baby, I’ve got you.”

Yuuji’s kisses were addictive, and if you weren’t careful you could find yourself becoming far too dependent on them. He starts softly, slotting his mouth against yours and letting you taste him before it grows more heated as the moments pass. Before long his tongue is dipping into your mouth, groaning lowly as he tastes you without any shame. His hands remain planted firmly on your hips, stroking the skin there, his fingertips dancing over the waistband of your shorts and panties. You weakly hum into his mouth, giving him the green light to continue.

He knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows every dip and curve, where to kiss and suck to bring you the most pleasure. His lips seem reluctant to leave your own, but he breaks away for a moment or two to catch his breath, pulling his face back far enough to take in your pleasured expression, the corner of his lips tugging up the slightest. “Don’t tell me you’re already fucked out,” he teases, his words light and airy as he begins to scatter kisses along your neck, being careful enough to not leave any lingering marks, despite the urge to burn in his chest.

He wanted to mark you, bruise you up, and leave his claim on you so that everyone could see who you belonged to. But he knew it wasn’t part of the agreement the two of you came to and the last thing he wanted to do was let you go. He’d rather suppress his feelings and keep them hidden away in the dark corners of his heart than let you go and fuck someone else.

“Y-Yuuji,” you warn him in a breathy tone when he mouths at your pulse point, nearly able to feel the erratic thump of your heart in your chest. “Don’t tease me, you promised you’d make me feel better.”

He hums against your skin, giving it a teasing lick. “That I did.”

Deciding not to tease and tempt you any further Yuuji kisses down your neck, being careful to not leave a mark, per your agreement, despite his heart telling him otherwise. Silently he encourages you to lift your hips so he could pull both your pants and panties down with a few tugs, relishing in the small, pleasured sounds that escape your parted, glossy lips.

“Gotta tell me where you want me,” he mumbles against the crook of your shoulder, his hands dipping underneath your shirt, tracing up your backside, thumbing the hook of your bra as he considers taking it off for a moment. You whine softly in response, making him tut in faux disappointment. “Can’t give you what you want if you won’t speak up, baby.”

You grumble something against the skin of his neck before raising your head, your lips are so close to his own that they nearly brushed against each other as you spoke,” Want your finger inside me, Yuuji. Want you to make me cum on them. Wanna feel good-”

The pink-haired man grasps your chin with his other hand, raising a brow. “What do we say when we want something?”

Your heart flutters against our ribs, like a bird taking flight and at this moment you can’t decide if this is something you love or hate about him - the fact that the smallest of things he did fluster you, made you submit to him and play right into his hand. That he had you wrapped right around his finger and he didn’t even know it.

“Please.”

That seemed to be all that was needed for Yuuji’s digits to circle your aching cunt, letting his fingers delve between your sticky folds, collecting the slick there and glancing down for a fleeting moment to watch it string between his fingers. His fingers weren't long, but girthy enough that it was a stretch to take them sometimes, the pads of his fingertips slightly calloused, able to brush over those sweet spots of tours and give you a dizzying orgasm over and over again.

Unexpectedly he kisses you to distract you from the first digit he slides into you, moaning at the tightness and warmth that greets him, chuckling lowly when you grind down against his hands with feeble little rolls of your hips as if you wanted him even deeper. With ease he slides them even deeper, brushing along your velvet walls and seeking that one spot he knows would leave you a mess in his lap.

“There it is,” he mumbles when you let out a particularly loud moan, smirking against your mouth. “You’re so responsive today, aren't you?”

He’s only met with a mewl in return.

One digit soon turns into two and then three, stuffed knuckle deep in your pussy as he fucks you with them, ensuring that he was brushing right over your g-spot with every stroke, even letting you grind down against his hand. Yuuji wasn’t truly focused on what he was doing, but rather completely and utterly enamored by your face, the way your body moved, the little expressions of pleasure you made each time he made you feel good - the way you’d lick your lips then part them to let out another sweet moan for him, how your brows would furrow just the slightest when he rubs your clit. Every little thing about you left him awed.

Something in his chest stirs. Fuck.

This can’t be good.

“You’re clenchin’ round me,” Yuuji whispers against the shell of your ear, making you shiver against him, curling your body closer to his until your breasts were pressing against his chest. “You gonna be real good and cum for me? Hm?”

As much as you wanted to say something the words die right on the tip of your tongue when he rubs your clit in harsh, tight circles, winding your body up even further. Your muscles tighten, your body growing stiffer as your orgasm approaches. All that you can do is nod desperately, your breaths coming out as nothing more than short pants. In, out. In, out. Blood rushes through your ears, briefly drowning out the sweet encouragement dripping from Yuuji’s lips as he pushes you headfirst into a blinding high.

At first, your entire body goes rigid, and then you collapse against him as pleasure drowns you in unending waves, ecstasy burning through your veins in a white-hot fire, setting your body alight.  Yuuij doesn’t slow the pace of his fingers, nor his thumb on your clit, forcing you to ride out your high and only heightening your sensitivity, swallowing your moans with a flurry of heated kisses, keeping your shaking body secured against his own with a firm arm wrapped around your waist.

“I’ve got you. Never letting go of you…”

It’s only when you push at his wrist and whine against his mouth that he finally slows his pace, pulling his soaked digits from your fluttering cunt and popping them between his lips to taste. Your eyes are dazed, unfocused, and twinkling as you watch him savor the taste of you on his tongue, and fuck, you look as pretty as ever as a post-orgasmic glow settles over you.

For a long, while soft pants and heated breaths fill the silence, the fog in your mind slowly dissipates as you come down from your high. Yuuji is transfixed, watching you as if it were the first time he made you come. Only when you tug at his shirt, inching it upwards, does he snap back to reality.

“I don’t think I can fuck you tonight.”

“What?” you breathe. Your stunned expression gives away more of your surprise than you would've liked to, but when it came to Yuuji it was hard to hide anything. When he doesn’t answer you pull back to look at him with a puzzled expression, repeating yourself.

He’s conflicted, more than he's ever been in his life, his brows drawn together until a crease formed between them, his lips pulled into a tight, thin line. He’s no longer focused on your face, his head tipped forward so he could avoid your expression. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

“Yuuji-”

He uncurls your arms from around him before you can even pester him with more questions, the bed dipping as he gets to his feet, adjusting his clothes. Even in the darkness of the room, he can see the panic setting into your eyes as you scramble to sit up, ready to reach out for him, a plea sitting on the tip of your tongue.

He steps back. He's in too deep already, and tonight had been the finalization of his feelings for you. This arrangement had been doomed from the start, but for your sake, he wanted to try. After all, he would do anything and everything for you, to keep you happy. His chest tightens uncomfortably as if someone was squeezing at his heart.

“Yuuji…” He hates how soft his name sounds coming from you.

He’s already halfway out the window when he whispers into the night, “Keeping this up would be like walking around with a bullet in my chest. I’m sorry… You can find someone else to fuck you.”

The night swallows him whole, his figure disappearing into only darkness as the void in your chest grows, it expands as far as the ends of the galaxy — a star threatening to implode.

when y/n's ex appears Pt 2.

BC boys: Yuno | Zora | Luck [Part 1]

JJK: Sukuna | Gojo [Part 2]

Haikyuu: Kuroo | Nishinoya | Sakusa [Part 3]

x f! reader

tw: slight nsfw - mentions of sex

Sukuna Ryomen

{just yeah. good ol' classic ex entering the same Jujutsu school as you and pesters you non stop to get back together}

My oh my was Sukuna mad when he found out. Hell has no fury like a king of curse scorned.

He wanted to just rip this man apart and make him vanish into thin air but he knew that because your ex was a student in jujutsu high, his death would be throughly investigated.

Sukuna couldn't care less about the school finding out he killed one of their students and sending some sorcerers to get him, but it would also mean that your relationship would be found out.

And of course he wants nothing more than to let the whole world you're his girl but that would mean a lot of trouble for you.

You could be expelled and stripped of all your titles as a sorcerer. And that would make you sad, and that's the last thing the king of curses wanted, so there he was sitting in his throne, fuming mad as his hands ran through his hair repeatedly.

So that night you were pulled into bed but you didn't sleep a wink until dawn. Your body was covered in love bites, slight bruises, and your cunt was a dripping mess from his cum.

He made sure you went to school, your legs still wobbly from the relentless love making session from hours before. Not only your ex knew you had a possessive boyfriend, but the entire school knew.

Gojo Satoru

{same scenario but I just thought it would be interesting since Gojo is a sensei.. hehe}

Your ex was a grade one sorcerer, entering the school as a teacher as well. Well it was known to everyone that you and Gojo were dating but your ex was just.. shameless and that made Gojo really bothered.

Your ex would openly flirt with you, telling you how pretty and cute you looked, just like the younger you. He ask about how you used to love strawberry ice cream and you both would go to this cafe to enjoy it together and laugh about it as though he was reminiscing about your old times.

Some days Gojo would one up him, saying about how much you enjoyed your date last weekend, or how you both went shopping together to get couple tees together.

The strongest sorcerer might look mighty during battles, but behind close doors he's all soft and jealous. When you both get home, he'd whine and complain about how upset he was and he would want all your attention.

He'll be extra physically affectionate during this time especially so in public and extra extra so when your ex is around.

He'll lay in your lap in the lounge, hold your hands, when you're standing his hands are on your waist, when you're seated his hands are on your thighs. Yeap, extra clingy gojo mode. Nobody could do anything about it, Nanamin did say a thing or two about being professional or showing the kids a good example but you know Gojo, he doesn't really care.

If he had to leave you, he would pull you into a dramatic long kiss. Even the kids couldn't stand it sometimes. He did this for a good year, until your ex kept his distance from you.

— BURN BRIGHT FOR ME | bokuto x fem!reader

-> synopsis: the club isn’t the best place to find a lover but maybe the stage is

-> cw: NSFW, MDNI 18+, smut, stripper!bokuto, brief mentions of alcohol, lap dances, dry humping, cunnilingus, spit, body worship, protected vaginal sex, praise, manhandling, size kink

-> wc: 7k help

-> a/n: this has taken me forever to write so pls don’t let it all go to waste 🥹

The club is heaving, as one would expect on a Friday night, lit up only by dimmed spotlights and chandeliers. A thick fog of white smoke carpets the floor, spilling out from strategically placed machines hidden behind heavy curtains that have now been pulled back for tonight's performance. The air is alive with a buzz of excitement, the tang of alcohol and the sweet scent of women’s perfume clouding your senses where you sit. The table you’re sharing with your friends gives you the best seats in the house, a perfect view of what you’re paying good money to see.

They giggle and chatter and you can’t help feeling a thrill of anticipation run down your spine as the announcer makes her way to the front with a dazzling grin to get the show started. The three of you came here on a whim when you stumbled across one of the performers' social media accounts. Out of mild curiosity, you began to dig through the handsome man’s profile, before discovering a link that took you to the club’s website and before you could think twice, you sent it to the group chat. Needless to say, the girls took one look at the gallery and decided that it would be a crime to pass up the opportunity to see a bunch of muscular men stripping on stage. 

“It’s starting!” Kaori squeals as the lighting is cut out completely, plunging the whole place into darkness. Music pours out from around you, slow and sensual, the beat settling heavily in your bones as it thumps rhythmically. One by one, stage lights burst to life, shining on each performer in time with the music. Every man is clad in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, top hats tipped low to shield their eyes in mystery, giving you only a taste of the sharp line of their jaws, their gloved hands folded neatly over black canes. The last spotlight turns on, right in the centre, revealing the final entertainer of the night. There’s a broad, charming grin on his face as he tips up the brim of his hat and winks at the crowd.

After that, the night becomes a blur.

There’s a lot of giggling, squealing and cheering as you watch performance after performance. After their initial introduction, each dancer has the stage to himself turn by turn, leaving their audience to fan their hot cheeks and toss every bill in their wallets on stage, even tucking them into the waistbands of their impossibly tiny underwear when they get close enough. 

You feel like you’re caught in some delicious daydream, as ridiculously gorgeous men shed their clothes and thrust the air, purely for your entertainment. A few people from the audience are coaxed onto stage for lap dances, and you quickly find that those parts are the most entertaining. The way they encourage their guests to run their hands over their muscular bodies, guiding them gently and whispering things in their ears makes you feel more than a little hot under the collar.

But out of all of them, the one that catches your eye, to no great surprise, is the star of the club. His performance is last and by far the best, in your humble opinion. A murmur ripples through the crowd as he steps on, an easy grin on his face. Almost immediately, the audience begins to chant ‘take it off!’ and he winks, launching into his routine. He’s the only one that has kept the tuxedo as his costume, flinging his hat off into the sea of people before him, revealing bright, golden eyes and salt and pepper hair pushed up and away from his face. 

This man is truly of a different calibre to the rest, you quickly realise. He has a way of hypnotising you with every movement, sensual and fluid as he pulls off his clothes one by one, revealing more and more of his perfectly sculpted form. You can’t tear your eyes away from him or his broad chest. But it’s not just the way he looks - the whole room feels electric from his presence, more bills fluttering around the stage like confetti, your own money joining the fray.

And then you blink and the tip of a cane appears beneath your chin. Your friends are nudging you forwards, encouraging you to accept his invitation and you quickly find yourself placing your hand in his so that he can hoist you onto the stage with him.

“Are you okay being up here?” he murmurs in your ear, guiding you to sit in the chair that has been brought out for this portion of his routine. You nod, taking a seat and willing your heartbeat to slow down. 

“I am. I think.”

Large hands brace themselves on the back of the chair, his forearms bracketing the slope of your neck, trapping you against it. His voice is deep and just a little bit rough but kind nonetheless. “Good. Would you like to touch me?”

You’re taken aback for a moment but the raucous audience encourages you to whisper your assent and he grins wolfishly, causing you to shiver from excitement. He starts by testing the waters, grinding his hips in the tiny space between you, almost brushing against you but staying clear - enough to tempt but not enough to make you uncomfortable. Testing the waters, you suppose. “Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you. “I want you to enjoy this.” Shyly, your gaze slides up from your lap to meet his eyes, breath catching in your throat when you meet deep pools of gold. They’re sultry but gentle, bright and beautiful and completely mesmerising, just like the rest of him, if not more. 

“I’m going to take your hands now. Is that okay?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe. At this point, you think you’d agree to absolutely anything he asked of you, completely caught under his thrall. His hands slide down from your shoulders to your wrists, grasping them loosely before he leans back a little and guides your own pair over his torso, letting you run your palms over his taut abs, his skin warm and a little damp with sweat under your touch. Letting go of you for a moment, he grasps his trousers and tugs them off in one quick motion, the sound of velcro pulling apart drowned out by the crescendoing music and more ecstatic cheering. 

Left in nothing more than his too-tight underwear to conceal whatever is left of his modesty, your cheeks flood with heat, and a giddy giggle tumbles from your lips as he begins to lead your hands over his rippling body once more. “You good?” he asks, smirking at the excited twinkle in your eyes.

“So good,” you reply, as he takes your hands lower. 

“How about now?” he snickers, letting your fingers brush over his tailbone. “This okay?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Then let’s take these pretty hands lower.” You allow him to slide your hands down to the pert globes of his ass, your whole face flaming hot as your palms settle there. Releasing them, he grips the back of your chair once again, moving his hips in time with the music as he dips his head until he is but a hair's breadth away from your lips. The rest of the room falls away as his warm breath plays against your lips, the music becoming a dull thud in your ears, like you’re numb to all but the man before you. Euphoria courses through your veins, a new sort of high that you didn’t think you could experience at the hands of a stranger, and yet here you sit, skin tingling and alive from his sheer proximity. 

“Are you gonna kiss me?” you find yourself asking teasingly, and his brows bounce up briefly in surprise as you dare to squeeze his ass. 

“I’m not allowed to do that, I’m afraid.”

“I can touch your ass but can't kiss you?” you pout and he grins.

“Not right now you can’t,” he tells you. “I’m gonna lift you now, okay?” You nod, shrieking in surprise despite the warning when he scoops you up with little to no effort, letting you wrap your legs around his waist whilst your arms loop around his neck. The audience whoops behind you and you can’t help feeling just a little bit smug. 

“Hot and strong,” you flirt. Where has this sudden surge of confidence come from? You’re not usually this brazen. This whole atmosphere is doing something to you. “Careful, or you’ll take my heart along with the rest of my cash.”

“These muscles aren’t just for show,” he says cockily. “Am I okay to dip you a little?”

Nodding, you allow him to flatten his hands against your back and let your torso drop away from him and down towards the floor, eliciting another squeal from you. From there, he lays you on the stage, right on top of his earnings for the night, rolling his whole body as he follows you down in a dive. Looming over you, he checks in with you again, his nose trailing down your throat and between your breasts.

Now, it bears mentioning that there is a reason as to why you are currently trapped beneath a hot stripper, why your friends insisted almost immediately that you pay this club a visit. It’s been an entire year since your fiance broke things off with you, and you’ve spent the majority of that time healing (read: moping). An entire year since you’ve been this close to an attractive man, let alone touched by one. But the extended dry spell of yours ends here, the rains of desire flooding deep in your belly as the man above you rolls his hips into yours and sends your mind spiralling, the half-hard bulge in his underwear dragging over your mound briefly with each sensual snap of his hips

“At least ask me to dinner first,” you joke breathlessly as he drops himself even closer to you, so that there's only a mere sliver of sexually charged air between your bodies.

“Do you want me to?”

“Would you?”

“I don’t see why not. You’re very pretty.” 

“Is that so?” you murmur, belly swooping low with butterflies at the sincerity in his voice. 

“‘Course. You can stick around and see what happens if you like.”

The performance begins to come to a close far sooner than you would like as he lifts you effortlessly into the air once again, placing you delicately on your feet before helping you off the stage. Is it a trick of the light and the result of too much loneliness, or does he keep glancing in your direction as his routine ends? Regardless, you sigh wistfully as he exits the stage, bringing the night of raunchy dances to a close.

“I can’t believe you got to go up there!” Yukie whines from, beside you. “Lucky bitch.”

“It looked like you were talking,” Kaori says, sipping from her martini glass and looking at you pointedly over the rim.

“He was just making sure I was okay with everything,” you say vaguely.

“Aw, that’s actually really sweet!” 

“Right?”

The night wears on and soon enough, your smartly suited waiters are replaced by the performers of the night, much to the delight of every patron in the establishment. They wander around serving drinks and such, wearing dazzling smiles and little else. Secretly, you hope the stripper you briefly flirted with will look in your direction.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” Yukie sighs, shamelessly ogling whoever she could set her greedy eyes on.

“You could always come again,” comes a deep, playful voice. Your head whips up in recognition. Speak of the devil. “Did you ladies enjoy the show?”

The girls giggle and gush to him as he sets down your drinks, his eyes lingering on you as he delicately places your glass before you. You dare not meet his eyes, cheeks flaming as you recall what transpired not too long ago. Ever the entertainer, he chats animatedly with your friends, laughing loudly over the general buzz of the club.

“How about you?” He directs his question at you, his wide grin settling into something more mischievous. “What did you think?”

“Who, me?”

“Yeah.”

“Of what?”

“Of my performance, of course,” he says without missing a beat. “They don’t call me a star for nothin’!”

“So it would seem.” It feels like all eyes are on you and this man, Kaori and Yukie glancing furtively between the two of you and this odd tension that seems to simmer in the space between you.

“You didn’t like it?” he asks, almost sullenly, and it’s his tone that makes you look up with a raised brow. 

“No, I did,” you affirm slowly. “I’ve never experienced anything quite like it.”

“Which part was your favourite?” Warmth creeps up your cheeks as your brief time on stage with him quickly flashes behind your eyes. Any confidence you had felt up there really was in the heat of the moment, and you can find no way to slip back into that side of you.

“All of it?” you answer unsurely, trying desperately not to give away that you very much enjoyed being under him. Apparently, it’s the right thing to say, because his bare chest puffs with pride as he comes around to your side of the table, taking the empty seat beside you.

“I’ve got a fan on my hands, huh?” he teases, waggling his thick brows.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, hiding your face in your hands out of embarrassment as the girls around you laugh. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

“Hey, hey, c’mon! Don’t get shy on me now!” he complains lightly, lower lipping pushing out in a pout - you can’t help thinking that expression looks downright adorable on him. 

“I’m not!” you insist, sinking lower in your seat, not helping your case in the slightest. 

“I think it’s time for a bathroom break, Kaori,” Yukie announces suddenly and the other girl nods and they rise from their seats in unison. They disappear before you can protest, leaving you alone with him.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says as you watch them leave.

“I didn’t catch yours,” you shoot back reflexively. 

“You want my real name?”

“Of course. A name for a name. It’s only fair, right?”

“I suppose that’s true!” he exclaims. “But don’t let the boss know I told you, ‘kay? It’s kinda against the rules.”

“What an odd rule,” you hum and he shrugs.

“Yeah, something to do with our privacy or whatever.”

“I see. And you’d be willing to share that with a stranger like me?” He chuckles sheepishly and scratches at his jaw. If the lights were any brighter, you’d see the sweet blush staining his cheekbones.

“It would make you not a stranger, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose that’s true,” you nod, biting your lower lip to halt your grin from widening. Now that there are no eyes on you, you can allow yourself to relax a little.

“Exactly! I’m Bokuto Koutaro,” he says, sticking his hand out for you to shake. You accept, and offer him your own name, to which he beams at you, almost blindingly. “Pleasure to meet you!”

The two of you barely get to strike up any meaningful conversation before the girls reappear, much to your disappointment. Bokuto rises from his seat and gives you an apologetic smile, his eyes lingering on you as he speaks.

“I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy your night.” 

“Actually,” Kaori says slowly, looking between you as she subtly nudges Yukie with her elbow. “We were just about to head to the bar. Right?”

“Huh? But we just got our drin- Oh! Right, right, we were!”

“But guys-”

“See ya later!” they chorus, leaving just as quickly as they came. A moment later your phone lights up with a message in the group chats that reads:

Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do ;)

“That was weird,” he says offhandedly as he sits back down and you hum in agreement, chewing on your lip in thought. It’s quiet for a moment as you sip pensively from your glass, at a complete loss for what to say. Thankfully, it seems he’s used to such lapses in conversation and pipes up. “Actually, how about we talk somewhere more private?”

“Do you talk to all of your customers in private?”

“Sometimes,” he grins, cocking his head to the side playfully. “Sometimes they don’t wanna talk.”

“And what do you do then?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he says and then mumbles under his breath. “Or at least, that’s what Daichi tells me. He’s always so secretive about his customers.”

“Huh?”

“So? Would you like to?”

You blink at him blankly for a moment. Fuck it, you think. I’ll take what I can get at this point. “Why not,” you shrug and take the hand he offers you. Guiding you through the club, the two of you head towards the back, weaving through a maze of tables to pass through a door that deposits you in a quiet, dark corridor.

“Follow me.” The two of you pass by several doors, each emblazoned with a plaque that has a different name etched into it. You quickly realise that these must be the dressing rooms for each performer and after a few more stops, you come to a stop outside of his door. He pushes the door open and pulls you inside. “Welcome to my humble abode. Cool, right?”

The room is brightly lit and littered with scraps of costumes and a pile of loose bills from the night's show. There's a plush sofa pushed against the far wall and his dressing table is littered with cans of hairspray and tubs of gel along with photographs of groups of people that surround his mirror. The room smells heavily of cologne, enough to make your head swim a little. All in all, it’s the sort of space you might expect from a guy like him.

“It’s a little messy, I know, but that’s just how it gets after a show,” he explains, shutting the door behind him. “You should see ‘The Great King’s’ dressing room, it’s way worse, I swear. Anyway, this isn’t what I had in mind. C’mon.”

Bokuto walks towards a door that’s about a foot away from the couch and beckons you over. “Is this the part where you kill me in cold blood,” you joke as you follow him.

“Nah, you’re a little too cute to be my victim.” The compliment is sincere and completely unexpected, causing heat to flood your cheeks. There’s something about him, between the hypnotising presence he has on stage and the sweet, carefree disposition he has off it, that pulls you towards him. Bokuto is magnetic, pulling you into his orbit effortlessly, reeling you in closer and closer, a star burning bright in every way.

This second room is completely different to the first. You wouldn’t call it messy as such, more that it looks lived in. The silky, silvery bed sheets are imperfectly made up, an abundance of pillows sitting against the headboard. The wardrobe is open, but the clothes inside it are neatly hung up and the lights are turned low, a candle flickering softly in the window sill, overlooking the streets below. It smells like cardamom and vanilla, a sweetly comforting blend that wraps around you and makes you feel at ease. Like him, you think idly.

“You live here?”

“Nah, this is just where I crash after a show. It’s like a home away from home y’know?”

“I’m assuming this is where you bring your customers as well?” you ask, pursing your lips and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Nope,” he says, flopping back on the bed and patting the space beside him. “If someone wants to spend the night with me, they usually pay for a hotel room.”

“So why have you brought me here?”

Bokuto shrugs and looks up at the ceiling. “You’re interesting.”

“Let me guess, ‘I’m not like other girls’, am I?” you mock lightly and he laughs, the sound of it endearing.

“Other girls can be interesting, sure,” he says, eyes twinkling as his laughter fades. “But they’re not here right now, are they?”

“Lucky me,” you murmur shyly. “I get to spend the night conversing with the club’s number one stripper.”

“Hey, the people out there would kill to sit where you are. You’re very lucky.”

“You’re not very humble, are you?” you snort.

“It’s true!” 

And it is. There’s no arrogance in his tone, no better-than-you smugness to be found in his handsome face. Sure, he’s a little cocky, but it’s not unfounded and it’s not suffocating either - it’s quite attractive, actually. He speaks the truth every time he opens his mouth, exactly as it is and nothing more. 

It’s easy to talk to him away from the noise of the club, even easier to laugh with him. The two of you migrate from the edge of the bed to sitting against the leather headboard, lounging in his pile of pillows as you talk about everything and nothing. As it happens, he’s also a relatively unknown volleyball player, but the money he earns from it, as much as he adores the sport, isn’t enough to sustain him - hence, the club. 

The night wears on and you slowly grow closer, drawn to one another by some invisible force. You’re laying on your sides, face to face, your hands resting between you, close enough for your fingers to brush. Never in a million years would you expect to be where you are now, laying in bed with a barely clothed stripper way past midnight, in some club you’ve never been to before. In all honesty, this is the first night in a long time that you haven’t paid any mind to your ex. All thoughts of him were trampled into the vinyl flooring the moment you were pulled onto stage. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Sort of.

“Yeah.” 

Bokuto chews his lip, like he’s picking his words carefully. “What made you come here tonight?”

“That question has a few answers,” you sigh but you decide to be honest. After all, there’s no use pretending anymore. “But honestly, it all comes down to my ex.”

“Trying to get over him?” he guesses.

“Something like that. Now that I think about it, I think I’ve been over him for a while. I’ve just been having trouble forgetting him even though it’s been a whole year since we broke up.”

Bokuto nods sagely. “A lot of people come here to forget. Whether it’s relationship trouble or work stress or whatever, it all gets left out there the moment they step through the doors.”

“My brain does tend to empty itself out when I see a hot, unclothed man,” you hum.

He chuckles and gestures with his hand. “There you go.” 

A beat of silence passes, and then it all comes out. “We were supposed to get married,” you tell him quietly. “Everything was perfect. He was the sort of man girls dream about being with, y’know? We were so, so happy.”

“What happened?”

You shrug. “He just left one day. Just poof, vanished. All of his belongings were gone when I woke up. All he left me was a note that said ‘I can’t do this anymore’. That’s all I got.” You laugh humourlessly, picking at the corner of one of his many cushions. “We were on good terms as well! We weren’t fighting, there were no grudges, nothing. As far as I know, he didn’t cheat either. He just… left. I struggled to cope without him for a long, long time.”

“I’m sorry,” he says gently, offering you an apologetic smile. “I know this might not mean much coming from a guy like… well, me.” He gestures vaguely to himself. “But sometimes, you find happiness in the strangest places, places you never thought it would be. You just have to look a little harder.”

“Wow,” you murmur. “That’s quite wise.”

“That’s because I am wise!” he grins proudly, which pulls a giggle out of you and melts the serious air around you. It’s the first time in a good while that you’ve felt a glimmer of hope spark in your heart. You reach out your hand and knit your fingers through his, filled with that same confidence from before that you didn’t know you were capable of.

“Hey, Bo,” you whisper. He hums curiously, golden eyes glowing almost silver as they reflect the moonlight. “Remember what you said? About being a gentleman?”

“Hmm… That we don’t kiss and tell?” He squeezes your hand once, running his thumb over your knuckles in an affectionate manner as you nod.

“Does that apply to me too?”

“Sure it does.”

“So if I kissed you now, would that stay in this room?”

“If that’s what you want, then yeah.”

“What if.” You lick your lips and dare to shuffle closer, until you can make out each of his lashes and all the flecks of amber in his eyes. “What if it was… more than that?”

Reaching out his free hand, he gently runs his knuckles over the swell of your cheek, featherlight and sweet as a whisper. Your eyes flutter shut at his tender touch. Maybe you’re starved for this, any crumb of affection you can get, or maybe the alcohol from earlier still clouds your judgement, but there’s one thing you’re certain of.

You can’t get enough of him.

“It can all stay in here.”

Your mind is made up. Reaching out, you run your fingers over his lower lip, breath catching in your throat as he catches your wrist and stills your hand. Gold burns deep into your soul as he flutters little kisses over your fingertips, dragging his lips down to your palm and then to the inside of your wrist, right where your erratic pulse resides. His lips are warm and soft, curling into a lopsided smile as he suddenly pulls you towards himself, simultaneously twisting himself onto his back. You land half on top of him, bashfully averting your gaze from his.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up. “Eyes on me.” Your mouth feels too dry to spit out a response so you nod, your faces inching closer together until you can feel the warmth of his breath waft over your lips. “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

When he speaks, you can feel his lips ghost over yours in a barely there kiss that makes your heart pound. Who eliminated the gap between you, you’re not certain, but suddenly his mouth is on yours and your fingers are buried in his hair and before you know it, you’re straddling his waist in a desperate attempt to get closer. Someone whines as tongue joins the equation and what begins as tentative and sweet, becomes needy and shameless.

You’re panting into his mouth as your kisses grow messier, unable to still the rocking of your hips right over his half hard cock. There’s been a storm brewing in the darkest depths of your belly all night, and now lightning crackles through your veins whilst thunder takes up residence in your ribcage.

“You sure you want this?” Bokuto grunts as you roll your hips on him just right.

“Do I seem unsure to you?” The breathless sarcasm isn’t lost on him and he huffs out a laugh, his large hands squeezing at the soft flesh of your hips so that he can help guide your movements.

“Just making sure.”

“I’m so glad you’re not wearing anything,” you huff against his mouth. Your hands are greedier than your eyes, wandering every inch of his bare skin. Strong muscles ripple and twitch under your touch, and if you knew him any better, you’d know that he’s actually squirming because he’s ticklish everywhere. “You’re so hot, Bo.”

“Yeah?” he gasps. “Hotter than all the others, right?”

“Way hotter,” you affirm, attaching your lips to his throat and sucking roughly.

“Good. You tryin’ to leave a mark or something?” he chuckles, his hands sliding back to grope at your asscheeks, the fabric of your dress bunching up between his fingers.

You pull back uncertainly, lips kiss-swollen and pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that okay?”

Brushing your hair back, he tugs you back in and kisses you softly and for a moment, it feels like you’re lovers. Like it’s not just your bodies that are about to become intertwined, but your hearts will be entangled too, each vein and artery criss-crossing until you share every beat, every drop of blood. 

“It is,” he whispers. All of a sudden, he flips you without any effort, pressing your back into the pillows as he hovers over you, smirking at your surprised little gasp. “But I think you deserve all the attention tonight. Whaddya say?”

Swallowing hard, you nod, relaxing back as he carefully unzips your dress and peels it off you, leaving you in nothing but a thin lacy bra and panties. Any shyness is forgotten as he eyes you hungrily, the prominent bulge in his underwear filling you with an odd sort of pride. You sit up a little and reach behind you, unhooking the band of your bra and tossing it aside, before hooking your fingers into your underwear and tugging them off as well.

“I wanted to do that,” he pouts, his hand coming up to cup one of your breasts, squeezing lightly so that it bulges between his fingers.

“You haven’t taken off enough clothes for one night?” you joke, settling back again.

“Yeah but they weren’t yours, were they? It’s different.”

“And mine are special, are they?”

“You are,” he says honestly. “I wanted to take my time for once. I don’t know what it is, but with you I want this to last. It’s the least you deserve.”

His name falls from your lips, more delicate than a feather, your whole core throbbing with need. There is no name for this flutter in your heart, no words to explain why you feel this inexplicable need to keep him all to yourself. Bokuto belongs to the world, but right now he is yours alone. Should anyone take him from you at this moment, your heart would surely break.

“Call me Koutarou.” He smiles at you sweetly, completely at odds with how he parts your legs and settles between them, roughened palms gliding over the bare skin of your thighs. A deep, happy hum rumbles in his chest as you whisper his name. Dipping down, he presses haphazard kisses in the wake of his touch, wet little pecks that make you shiver the closer he gets to your centre. You know you’re soaked. You can feel the stickiness that drools out of you, slipping dangerously close to the bed sheets as he pushes your legs even wider.

More kisses cover your inner thighs, the odd playful nibble making you gasp as he decorates your skin with spit, teeth marks and blooming bruises. Your hands sink into his hair, surprisingly soft as your fingers comb through the salt and pepper strands. And then his mouth reaches its destination and your grip tightens as he licks a long, flat-tongued stripe, ass to clit and spits on your syrupy flesh.

Owlish eyes bore into yours, dark with lust as he swirls the wet muscle over your sensitive bud before sucking into his mouth. The pleasure spikes suddenly and your hips buck, need bubbling hot and quick in your belly. Before you can ask him to slow down, he releases your clit and laps at your folds experimentally before he dips his tongue into your entrance. He may have said that this is all for you, but judging by the way his eyes roll back into his skull and he groans long and deep, it’s safe to assume that he finds pleasure in this too.

“Kou-” you whine as he buries his face deeper into your cunt, drinking from you as if he’s never tasted a drop of water in his life. The sounds coming from his mouth grow more obscene the longer he spends ravaging you with his mouth, loudly slurping and grunting against you like a starved beast. Your eyes squeeze shut against the ecstasy, hips rolling into his no doubt dripping face, fingers so tight in his hair that if he moves wrong, you might pull out a small clump of it.

But Bokuto seems oblivious to any pain, so drunk on the taste of you that he barely even comes up for air. When he does pull back for the briefest moment, his chin and lips glossy and his eyes full of stars, he smacks your thighs and huffs in mild annoyance, keeping you warm and pliant with two thick fingers buried inside you. “Don’t close your eyes,” he tells you as he licks his lips. “Look at me. Look at what I’m doing to your sweet pussy.”

And he dives back in for more.

“I want you to cum on my face,” he mumbles into you as he feels you tighten around his fingers. “I want it.”

You can barely think straight, but you manage to stutter, “I-I thought this was about me.”

“Baby, it is, it is,” he groans, flicking his tongue rapidly over your stiff clit and forcing your back to arch. “‘S all about you. But I should get a reward for making you feel so good, right? That’s what I want.”

This time, you don’t respond, so overcome with pleasure that every vein in your body brims with crackling lightning, sparking scalding hot in your belly until finally, it bursts and you tumble over the edge with a sharp cry of his name. Even as your body trembles under his hands, he continues to lick at your pussy, catching every last drop of cum that leaks out of you, only stopping when you whimper and push his head away. “T-too much.”

Moving up the bed, he kisses you, licking heavily into your mouth and pushing the taste of your own juices onto your tongue. His cock is hard, twitching against your thigh. At some point, he must have shed the last scrap of cloth shielding his modesty and now you can feel every thick inch of him. Bokuto pulls away and you look down, your eyes almost bugging out of your skull at what you see.

“Fuck.”

Golden eyes follow your line of sight, a soft blush colouring his cheeks as they land on the little wet spot that formed on the bed under where he had been. “I got a little carried away,” he says sheepishly, evidence of his own need leaking freely from his flushed cockhead.

“It’s so big,” you blurt out.

“Huh? What are you- Oh! Oh, that’s what you were looking at,” he laughs. “I, er, get told that a lot.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you mumble under your breath. However, lust begins to overshadow logic the longer you look at his dick, drooling precum and painfully hard. You wonder if your hands would fit around it, if it would break your jaw if you tried to put it in your mouth, if-

“Don’t worry.” His warm voice cuts off your thoughts as his hand runs soothingly over your tummy, dropping to a whisper. “We can make it fit.”

Bokuto reaches into his bedside drawer and pulls out a foil packet, quickly tearing it open and rolling a condom over his cock. Part of you deflates as he covers it but you suppose it makes sense. In the blink of an eye, he’s on you again, kissing you deeply as he pulls your thighs around his waist and sits back on his haunches.

Taking himself in hand, he guides the blunt tip of his cock through your dewy folds, gathering your arousal and spreading down with his hand as he pumps himself. “Ready?”

“Mhm,” you nod. Anticipation thrums under your skin as he prods at your fluttering hole, slowly dipping inside it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your cunt swallows the bulbous tip, hot and tight around him. He feels so dizzyingly good, that it takes every effort not to slam into you and fuck you until you weep. A whimper catches his attention, his gaze flicking up to see your face scrunched in discomfort.

“Are you okay?”

“F-fine, it's just a lot.”

“Believe me, I know,” he grunts, massaging circles into your hip with one hand, the other playing gently with your clit. “Just relax, baby.”

His hands distract you a little from the dull burn you feel at the edges of your stretched entrance, but it ebbs as he starts to shallowly thrust his hips, popping the head in and out of you, pushing in just a little further each time to accustom you to his sheer size. After a while, he meets resistance, his balls pressed up against your ass once he’s fully inside, your walls hugging him tightly. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he whines, pearly teeth pressing into his lower lip, his thick brows knitting together as you squeeze around him, sweat beading at his forehead.. You’re half delirious yourself, feeling so full that you fear you might come apart at the seams. You wouldn’t mind that, you think - as long as it’s him unravelling you.

You squirm, voice thin and breathy. “‘M so full.” 

“Can I move?” You don’t even answer him and his hips are already grinding into you. “Please let me move.”

“Fuck me, Koutaro,” you mewl, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “I want you.”

Barely able to hold back, Bokuto does just that. He fucks you like it’s his sole reason for existing. Every snap of his hips, every time his cock drags against your insides and bumps up against that delicate bundle of nerves, has you moaning wantonly, uncaring of who might overhear.. His heavy thrusts split you open, pushing you further into the pillows every time he slams into you.

“So perfect,” he moans. “Can’t get enough of you.”

It’s easy to forget that Bokuto’s physique isn’t just for display. Before you realise it, he’s pinning your thighs up against your body, your feet dangling over his broad shoulders as he forces you further into the mattress. Like this, he’s even deeper, impossibly so, stroking places inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pure ecstasy courses through your body, your mouth hanging open as he fucks you harder, pulling sounds from your chest you didn’t think you were capable of making.

Despite how rough and desperate it is, he leans down and kisses you, his hips still pistoning in and out of you. When his lips meet yours, when he pants and moans into your mouth between messy kisses, you feel that fluttering in your chest again. Perhaps you're just drunk on pleasure, but it feels like love and devotion and everything you thought you’d never feel again at the hands of another. Tears prick at your eyes, half from emotion and half from being pounded so thoroughly, so you cling to him tighter and choke out his name like a prayer, over and over.

“Kou- Koutaro, ‘m so close,” you sob.

“Yeah?” he pants. “Gonna cum for me, aren't you? All for me. Only for me.” His fingers find your clit and all it takes are a few tight, wobbly circles before you’re falling apart on his cock, your tits pressed tight against his chest as you crumble to pieces. He fucks you through it, his thrusts growing sloppy and disjointed before he too reaches his peak with a loud, open-mouthed moan, each spurt of his cum filling the tip of the condom.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, sweaty and clinging to each other, your thighs trembling from the aftershocks, an ache settling in your muscles from the position you’ve been folded into. Bokuto drops his forehead to rest against your own and you wish that you could stay with him like this forever. But all too soon, he’s pulling out and you both hiss, leaving you to feel empty and lonely once again.

“You good?” he murmurs and when you nod, he gently lowers your legs to the mattress before he quickly hops off the bed and discards the condom. Forlornly, you sit up, glancing around the room for your clothes. There’s no doubt that now that this is over, you’ll part ways and this will all become a distant memory. You’ll compensate him for his time, as you’ve heard some people do, and that will be that.

“What are you doing?” he asks, as you start to slip your arms through the straps of your bra.

“Getting dressed?” He makes a confused face and sits on the edge of the mattress.

“Why?”

“... Isn’t that what usually happens?”

“Yeah, but not after one round,” he chuckles, plucking out another foil packet from the drawer. “The night is still young.”

“Oh. I see.”

“You don’t want more?” His tone is a little dejected and you smile at him halfheartedly.

“Of course I want more,” you say softly, your words carrying more weight than you can stand. “I want so much more.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get,” he promises, cupping your cheek and raising your head so that you can see the honesty shining in his eyes. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“No?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “And even when we are done, I was hoping you’d stay to cuddle.”

You feel yourself soften and grow hopeful. “Is it normal to do that after fucking a customer?”

“Not really. It’s also not normal to want to take my customers to brunch the morning after.” He sounds shy and hopeful and you want to kiss him all over again.

“Oh.”

“So?” Tentatively, he hooks a forefinger through your limp bra strap and cocks his head to the side. “What do you say? Would you want that?”

Holding his gaze, you wrap your hand around his and free his finger from the garment and tug him towards you, a giddy smile curling at your lips. “Yes,” you breathe, pulling him into a gentle kiss. “I want it. I want you.”

-> tags: @burnishedcrown @bigbadwolfwood @quaranweeb @crysugu @autumnalsteahouse @kuroosexuall @pressed-flower-journal @petriquors @tteokdorokimain @oinksa @unknownspecies @strawberrystepmom

tw: smut, pegging, degradation, dom oikawa

the thought of physically dominating oikawa but he is fully in control... pegging the dude but he’s got a collar round ur neck and yanking you forward to thrust inside him by a leash,., moaning an shit about how u should “put your back into it bitch” and “fuck me like you mean it, stupid girl”.

after a bit of reassurance that you weren’t going to hurt him, he had got you to use full force, and you drilled into him. your pretty hips slap against his ass, you can see it jiggle between you. your shaky hands are on his waist, your grip had been slowly tightening as you fought your better judgement to fuck him harder like he wanted you to. One hand on the counter, one on the chain that keeps you in check. He moans, the lubed up strap sliding in and out of him with the perfect, rapid grind of your hips.

He growls when he feels your bated breath on the back of his neck, hand moving from the counter to reach behind and grab you ass. It digs the strap in more, and you both moan. You timidly start to kiss his neck, almost wondering if you should have, but he swears under his breath, do you think you have the right idea.

“keep-keep going little whore, giving it to me so good, fucking-“ he grunts, slaps permeating the room.

“I’m close slut, finish me off,” and he reached his free hand to his waist and brings you smaller hand to his leaky dick, dragging it up and down in his fist. The chain jangles as he yanks it tighter again, and you nestle further inside him, increasing with the pace of his hand guiding yours.

he starts whimpering shamelessly. you could hear your wet wet pussy squelch with the movement, so turned on by ur boyfriends body and moans and everything, and he hounds on you instantly. “your really getting off on this aren’t you? you’re fucking sick, maybe i should make you fuck me more. ohh fuck.”

youre hitting it just right, the huge dildo filling his tight ass to perfection. his hole clenches around it and your pace continues, fast and hard, kissing his g-spot, pulling the dirtiest sounds from him.

you’re so so so wet, you think you’ll cum from the minuscule friction of the strap on your pelvis and his whiny depraved noises. you whimper in his ear and his head tilts back, cumming all over his hand with a high pitched groan.

he breathes, dropping the chain as he steadies himself against the counter. you retract your hand from his pulsing dick, thighs shaking and pussy nearly dripping. slowly, you draw back your hips, leaving him to wince as you pull out of him. you let out a shaky breath, a little tired, and wrap your arms around his waist. Softly you nestle your head onto back of his shoulder, basking in his smooth warm skin.

“good girl” he sighs, loving your tender touch. You hug him a little tighter, and he smirks to himself.

he wishes he could see you right now, his collar around your neck, desperate tears in your eyes, wet pussy throbbing. It made him so hard thinking about how much you loved fucking him. And since you had done such a good job, it was only fair he repay the favour.

masterlist

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”