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eddiesghxst · 8 months

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PRICE OF FAME (PART 2/12)

hiii here's these two again, enjoy!!

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18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie still hates you, you're way too nice, and gareth fucked up big time

contains: enemies to lover trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, reader gets injured (nothing crazy), eddie hooking up with someone that's not reader, mean eddie, sexual themes, a glimpse of needy n sad eddie, mild violence (eddie punches someone), and Eddie being nosey <3

word count: 5.6k

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Eddie can’t do it.

He can’t fucking stand you. He hates that you’re everywhere, always around, always lingering— like a fucking hawk— just silently watching and waiting for one of them to fuck up. And he hates that you carry that fucking journal everywhere, always jotting down notes about whatever bullshit you write about— and he’s sure it isn’t any good either way because most of the time, the band does the same shit every day. There’s nothing for you to write about. They do a show, hang out backstage, catch wind of some party, stay out until they can’t physically walk anymore, and crash as soon as they get to the hotel.

It’s the same shit. Yet, you’re always writing something down as if something new has happened— as if it’s something intriguing and eye-catching.

You barely talk for the first few days; you just watch and observe, and Eddie thinks this must be how animals at the zoo feel— on display and putting up some fascinating show. He hates it.

After the third show, you start to loosen around the edges and start actually talking, like a normal human being. You talk to Jeff the most, laugh at his shitty jokes and ask him questions about songs and lines he’s written in past songs, and Eddie hates that. He hates watching you sit next to Jeff and scribble in your journal as Jeff strums out a new hook.

He hates that whenever he brings you up to Jeff and makes some snide comment about you, Jeff never joins in— just shrugs and says, ‘She’s not too bad, actually.’

As if Eddie would ever believe that.

Gareth hardly pays any mind to you; he's too busy checking out chicks and just… being Gareth, but you’ve talked to him on multiple occasions. Eddie’s caught glimpses of you two chatting at rehearsals or in the green room. You even sat with him at breakfast the other day, and Eddie— Eddie almost blew a gasket because that was his fucking seat.

You’re ruining everything, and nobody seems to notice except for Eddie, and it’s driving him nuts.

“Dude, you’re gonna scare her away if you keep glaring at her like that,” Jeff mumbles, turning back to his guitar as he runs a dust cloth over the neck of the instrument.

They’re in the studio today because there’s no show tonight, and against all of Eddie’s wishes, Richie still invited you to come sit in for their session. Eddie watches through the glass of the sound booth as you settle in on the brown couch, pulling out that stupid journal and a pen, mindlessly clicking it a few times before writing a note. Ridiculous.

Eddie glares at Jeff and works the gum in his mouth as he pulls a face, “Good. She can blow off the face of the earth for all I care.” He grumbles, sitting down in the metal chair beside Jeff.

Jeff looks at him, raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and shakes his head, “She’s not going anywhere, man. You’re gonna fuck it up if you keep being so… hostile toward her.” He points out. Eddie leans back in his chair, pulling out a box of cigarettes and sparking up. “I’m not gonna be the one to fuck it up,” Eddie mumbles through smoke, “You guys are practically feeding her all the information she needs on a silver fucking platter. She’s a goddamn shark.”

Jeff scoffs and says nothing more as he continues cleaning his guitar. Eddie glances at you and watches you talk to the producer, smiling and laughing at something that Eddie can’t hear because the mic is off and the door is closed.

Aside from how annoying and creepishly lurk-y you are, Eddie can admit you’re pretty. You have a pretty face, pretty smile, pretty hair, a bright look in your eyes that Eddie can’t stand because you look at the rest of the band like they hung the fucking moon when they speak. You look at everyone as if they’re so important, and Eddie thinks that’s dumb.

He glances at Jeff, watches him silently for a moment, and glances back at you, takes a hit of his cigarette before speaking, “You like her?” he asks.

Jeff glimpses at Eddie and laughs with a shake of his head, “Isn’t that precisely what you’re pissed about?”

Eddie shakes his head, “No, like,” he kicks the heel of his shoe into the floor, “Do you wanna fuck her?”

Jeff pauses his task and watches as Eddie puffs on his cigarette. “I have a girlfriend, Eddie.” He reminds the boy. Eddie glances at him and scoffs, “That chick from Chicago? Thought that was just for fun.” He responds.

Eddie remembers the girl from a few weeks back, remembers Jeff sneaking her on the bus while they had dinner. He didn’t know they were serious.

Jeff shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, “No, man. She’s come to like every show— and her name is Naomi; she’s not a chick.”

Eddie grunts in response, burning to the end of his cigarette when Jeff stands up and nudges him with his foot, “Just talk to her, dude. She’s not as bad as you think she is, and she asks good questions— actual questions, about the music and shit. None of that,” he waves a hand in gesture, “stupid shit we get from reporters. She’s good. Just try.”

Jeff leaves Eddie to mill about it and finish off cigarette, snuffing it out in the ashtray sitting on the amp. Eddie doesn’t believe Jeff one bit; he thinks you’re a liar who’s mastered the art of manipulation and has weaseled your way into gaining his friends' trust. He doesn’t believe you are here for the music, as Jeff had said; he thinks— knows— that you’re here to find the cracks.

You’re here to find the cuts and bruises and press into them so you can tear them apart piece by piece. A starved monster, preying on his band for some sick and twisted story to feed the media so you can climb the ladder of your industry. Eddie has met and knows people like you, and he can call your bluff from a mile away.

He doesn’t believe Jeff. But he does, however, know how to play your game.

The next day is show day— the fifth show of the residency, and Eddie is in a good mood. He woke up with a girl in his bed, got high, went for a short walk to a nearby cafe, and even signed a few autographs for some lovely fans. On top of that, you haven’t shown up for rehearsals yet, and Eddie thinks the world is working in his favor today if you skip.

He’s playful today. He jumps on Gareth’s back and makes him run down the rows of the arena, screaming and hollering like wild animals. He and Jeff take Richie’s golf cart and go for a spin backstage, giggling when the security chases them and tells them speeding backstage is prohibited. They don’t listen, though; Eddie ignores everyone’s warnings and keeps hauling ass down the nearly empty hallways, swerving around boxes and equipment like a madman.

And Eddie may be mean sometimes; he may push people's buttons for the hell of it and do things he knows he shouldn’t just to get a reaction out of it, but Eddie isn’t cruel. He isn’t a psychopath who likes hurting people, so he doesn’t mean to speed past you and spook you badly enough to stumble into a stack of road cases.

Eddie saw you, and he tried to warn you, yelled out for you to move out of the way, and even honked, but you had a pair of headphones stuffed over your ears so that you couldn’t hear the squealing wheels of the golf cart or Eddie’s warning. He almost took you out. Almost. But he didn’t because he swerved at the last second, and you panicked and stepped back, stumbling on the heel of your shoe and falling onto the cold cement floor, slamming your back against the black boxes.

Eddie curses and comes to a screeching halt, parking the golf cart and following Jeff as he jogs over to you, quickly asking if you’re okay and helping you to sit up. As you speak, your face is twisted in confusion, wincing and sitting up, “I’m fine, I just— I just fell, it’s fine.”

Eddie watches from a few feet back as Jeff helps you stand up, face pinching in an expression of pain when you put your weight onto your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t believe it for a second. “I think you might need to get that checked—” Eddie cuts Jeff off and speaks the first thought that comes to his mind, “Why didn’t you move out of the way?”

You look at him, anger replacing your look of pain as you glare at Eddie. You grip the band of your headphones and wave it at him, “Because I didn’t fucking hear you, jackass.” You snap. “What, you couldn’t see the big ass machine hurling your way?”

“No,” you seethe, “You shouldn’t have been driving that fast anyways; this isn’t my fault. The least you could do is say fucking sorry.” You spat. And Eddie just thinks you’re a brat. Before Eddie can respond with an even bitchier response, Jeff is cutting in with a wave of his hands, “Okay, this is fucking stupid,” he scoffs, “just let me drive you to medic so you can get checked.”

Eddie doesn’t even bother helping Jeff get you to the golf cart; he simply watches as you fake your limp all the way to the vehicle and thank Jeff for helping you get in. Jeff looks back to Eddie and raises an eyebrow, “Are you coming, man?”

Eddie wouldn’t willingly spend a minute with you if someone paid him to do it.

He shakes his head with a scoff and tells them to go on, he’ll meet them at the stage later on, and Jeff takes off without another word.

“Did you try to hit the journalist with a fucking golf cart?”

Eddie’s good mood is long gone.

After the whole golf cart fiasco, Eddie took his time walking around backstage and burning through cigarettes before finding himself in the room filled with snacks and drinks. He’s standing at the table filled with chips and sodas when Richie storms in and starts causing a goddamn scene.

“What—” “You know what I’m talking about.” Richie snaps. Eddie’s face twists in annoyance, “I didn’t try to fucking hit her; she didn’t move out of the goddamn way because she’s an idiot,” Eddie grumbles, returning to his task of sifting through the different brands of chips. Eddie doesn’t believe you’re actually hurt. That pathetic fall was as minor as a fall can get, and he thinks Jeff and anyone else who believes your shitty acting skills is dumber than a rock.

Richie snatches the bag of chips out of Eddie’s hand and tosses them onto the table, ignoring Eddie’s protest as he speaks, “She sprained her fucking ankle, man.”

Eddie scoffs, “She’s faking it, Richie; anybody with brains can see that from a mile away.” He rolls his eyes. Richie looks at Eddie as if he’s lost his mind, as if Eddie is the worst villain to ever grace the goddamn planet, “You’re fucked up,” and Eddie’s stomach twists in some weird way he can’t explain.

“You have some serious fucking issues, man. That girl did nothing to you, and you treat her like shit.” Richie spits, and Eddie hates how his throat feels tight, like someone shoved a golf ball down his throat. “Get over yourself.”

Richie leaves Eddie in the empty room, silent and, against Eddie’s wishes, feeling like the shittiest man alive.

Eddie’s good mood feels like a dream now.

He’s silent throughout rehearsals. He sings his parts half-assed and plays his solos half-assed, too. You watch from the side of the stage, propped up on one of the road cases to take the weight off your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t even glance in your direction the entire time. He avoids you at all costs, leaving the room when you walk in, going the other direction you’re walking in, and even skipping lunch to avoid crossing paths.

You’ve been like a ghost all day; everywhere Eddie goes, you’re somehow there, walking with a shitty limp as if trying to rub it into Eddie’s face that, ‘You did this. This is your fault.’ and Eddie can’t stand it. By the time the doors open to the arena, Eddie is more than ready to finish the show and steer clear of all traces of you.

You watched the show on the TV in the dressing room, silently snacking on a bag of Ritz crackers with your foot propped up on the coffee table beside the couch. The medic advised you to avoid putting pressure on your ankle for the next few days so you couldn’t have your usual front-row view of the show.

The boys do good; they perform a new song they’re working on, and the crowd seems to have loved it. As usual, they get up to their ritual backstage antics, pregaming for whatever party they’ll attend, loud and obnoxious music, and cheering on whatever drinking game they’ve made up. You’re silently writing in your journal, updating the last entry on what you’ve witnessed today. Interpretations on the new music, drabbles on what you and Gareth briefly discussed about his childhood, and quick notes on whatever comes to mind while writing.

You hardly notice Eddie stumbling through the dressing room door until you hear him bumping into the side table with a curse. You look up, silently watching as he looks around the room, searching for something you’re unsure of. You try to keep your voice level to not scare him, but he is startled either way, “What are you looking for?”

His eyes are low, puffy around the edges from the alcohol he’d tossed back earlier, hair tousled with curly strands clinging to his lips. His lips are slick, swollen, and red, clothes askew on his lean frame. His jeans are unbuttoned, belt clinking as he sways a bit, licking his lips as he stammers, “Uh… my uh, my jacket—” he blinks, stumbling to lean against the door and blinking hard, “M’looking for my jacket.”

Your eyebrows raise as you watch him, the disheveled and captivating mess he is, bleary eyes gazing at you through a cloud of eyeshadow and whiskey. You breathe and point to the chair in front of the vanity, “It’s over there.”

His gaze follows your lead, landing on his strewn jacket, cursing as he walks across the room. You busy yourself with your journal, picking up where you’d left off. You can hear Eddie rustling behind you, and you try to avoid glancing back at him, but you fail, glancing in time to watch as he leans forward into the mirror to tug at misplaced strands of his hair.

He’s silent for a moment before clearing his throat, glancing back at you through the mirror, “I’m uh… I’m sorry about,” he gestures to your elevated foot, forgetting you’re not even facing him, and rubbing the back of his hand to rub his nose and sniffling, “About your foot… Was really shitty of me.”

You glance back at him, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips, “Thank you, Eddie. I appreciate your apology.”

Eddie scoffs, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and shoving a stick between his lips with quivering fingers, “Yeah, well, that’s the first and last apology you’ll ever get from me so…” you silently watch as he lights his cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke and glancing at you through the mirror, “cherish it.”

You quietly sigh and shift in your seat, ignoring his remark, “You going out tonight?” You ask.

You watch as he steps away from the vanity and walks over to the couch, plopping down on the farthest side from you with a deep sigh, “That’s the routine.” He mumbles around a cloud of smoke.

You nod, an uncomfortable silence settling over the two of you as you continue writing. Eddie is slumped down in his seat, quietly puffing on his cigarette as he gazes at you through low lids, “What are you writing?”

You look at him; pen paused over the sentence you’d been writing as you tilt your head, “I’m working on my piece… you know, the piece you’re starring in.” Eddie grumbles in response with a single nod of his head, and his eyes are so low you’d almost think he’s falling asleep if it weren’t for his determination to finish his cigarette.

“Why— why haven’t you asked me anything?” Eddie asks.

You look at him, doing your best to keep a neutral expression as you fold your hands over the paper of your notebook, “I wasn’t under the impression you wanted to be… bothered.”

Eddie glances at you, scoffing, and you remind yourself that you’ve already somehow made the man despise you, so it’d be better to hold your tongue, opting not to remind him of the shitty attitude he’s had since you met. “I’m part of the band, aren’t I?” He shrugs, picking at the loose threads of his ripped jeans. “Shouldn’t I have as much coverage as… Jeff?” He mumbles, and you think he might be under the impression that you can’t hear him, but you do either way.

Your eyebrows raise, and you shift in your seat once again, “Well… would you like me to ask you some questions?”

Eddie is more gentle when he is drunk, you think. More pliable, softer. The stone-hard deflective shield he has thrown up for you has withered beneath the alcohol. Where his eyes are usually cold and sharp, they are now softer and telling— of what, you’re not sure yet. He shifts further into the couch and shrugs, and you take a deep breath and flip to a clean page, scribbling Eddie’s name in the corner.

“Okay, Eddie,” you begin, turning ever so slightly to face him. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me about who you are aside from the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” You glance between your notebook and Eddie, patiently waiting as he takes a drag of the burning paper. He looks at you, the majority of his face shielded behind unruly dark curls, and the room is so silent it’s nearly deafening.

Eddie shakes his head so gently you almost don’t notice the movement, “I don’t…” he bounces his leg once, “I thought this was about the music.”

You nod, “It is.”

Eddie gently blinks, like if he blinks too hard, the earth might shatter, and you think it’s beautiful, and you think you might hate that.

“It’s about the music, but I can’t write about the music without knowing the creator, can I?”

Eddie looks at you, eyes almost clear with lips parted around smoke. He blinks again, and you smile in encouragement, situating the pen in your grip. He looks at you, studies you, his gaze dropping to your awaiting hand, and his face twists in some expression you can’t put a finger on.

Before Eddie can speak, the door opens, both of your heads snapping toward the door as a tipsy Gareth pops his head inside, “Eddie, come on man, the car’s here.”

If Gareth had noticed the odd combination of you and Eddie sitting on the same couch, willingly enduring each other's presence, he wouldn’t mention it.

You look back to Eddie, and you almost want to stop him as he gets up because, god, you were so fucking close. So close to finally touching Eddie. But he’s gone quicker than he came, the scent of his cologne and smoke lingering like a ghost, and despite Eddie giving you absolutely nothing to write about, you find yourself writing about him either way with nothing but his scent to aid you.

Eddie is drunk, and he can not, for the life of him, stop thinking about you.

A girl is climbing over him in the back of a taxi, and Eddie can only think about you. The look of pain you had when you stood up after falling, the way you looked at him as if he was the bane of your existence— it makes Eddie’s stomach churn, and he wishes the culprit for his nausea was the alcohol, but it’s not. Eddie knows it’s not because the second he thinks about the way you smiled at him in the dressing room, the way you said his name, the way you spoke so gently despite how much of an asshole he’s been to you, Eddie’s sick stomach settles and erupts in this annoying warm flutter.

Eddie can’t think of anything but the fact that he wants you to smile at him more, wants to hear you say his name again, and talk to him in your gentle way.

His face pinches in frustration, fingers gripping the girl's waist as she mouths at his neck. She moans against his skin, grinding down against his bulge and grinning when she feels him rut up against her. Eddie mumbles something, he’s not sure what he mumbles because his brain is split between worlds of scary feelings and arousal, but the girl laughs, scraping her teeth against his thumping pulse, “That journalist?” She asks.

Eddie blinks away the foggy cloud, “Huh?”

Lany pulls away from his neck and looks at him, biting her lip and tilting her head as she rubs up against him again, Eddie grunting in the back of his throat as his face twists in pleasure. “The journalist. You said her name.” Lany hums, drifting her hands up Eddie’s chest and grappling at the collar of his unbuttoned sheer top. Eddie blinks again and shakes his head, “I didn’t,” he denies.

Lany giggles, “You did, Eddie.”

Eddie glances over her shoulder, making awkward eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror, and he slightly grimaces and looks back to Lany as she leans in, ghosting her lips over his and tauntingly whispering your name. Eddie grunts in protest, squeezing her hips in a warning. Before he can say something, Lany kisses him with a hum before pulling away to where her lips brush against hers as she speaks, “Did you fuck her?”

Eddie pulls away from Lany, a look of distaste on his face as he glares at her, “Did I— what? No,” Eddie cringes as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever heard— and it’s not, and Eddie… Eddie hates that, he thinks. “No, I didn’t fuck her. Are you serious?” “You want to fuck her then?”

“I want you to stop talking about her,” Eddie counters, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip and watching as he drags the plump flesh down, grinning when Lany nips at his fingertip. “Maybe put these pretty lips to good use, hm?” He taunts, grin widening when she nods and sucks his thumb down to the last knuckle, his jeans tightening at the feeling and sight.

And if Eddie did say your name, he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’d been thinking of you for whatever odd, fucked up reason, and he doesn’t try to figure out what that weird flutter feeling is when he thinks about your softness, the softness he’s been depriving himself of.

He doesn’t dwell on any of it because Eddie is drunk, and when Eddie drinks, he thinks of and does stupid things, things that sound good at the moment but will screw him over in the long run.

And Eddie wants nothing to do with you anyway, and it’s not like one half-assed drunken conversation changed that, right?

Eddie’s got a blistering headache and a churning stomach as he stands outside the studio the following day. It’s drizzling, gloomy clouds drooping over the looming buildings of New York, and Eddie always hated this kind of weather; he preferred a full storm over the tease of a shower.

New York has never been Eddie’s favorite place, it’s dirty, and reeks of trash, and the people are shitty, but he likes how easy it is to blend in with the crowd; not many people notice him here, and that’s rare these days.

He’s leaning on the stoop of the building, tiny drops of rain dripping from the portico onto his leather-covered shoulders. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he watches the traffic go by, taking slow puffs to ease his body.

He hardly notices you when you bounce up the stairs until you stand just two steps below him. He glances at you and sees the coffee cups in each of your hands. You extend one out to him, “Would you like one? They accidentally gave me two.” You offer.

And you’re fucking nice. Despite how shitty Eddie has been towards you, you’re still nice to him, and Eddie, for the life of him, can’t stand it. He thinks you’re weird, insane, stupid. Thinks you were probably dropped as a baby more times than anyone can count because there’s no way somebody in their right mind would willingly give him the time of day when he’s treated them as shitty as Eddie has treated you. He nearly ran you over, for Christ's sake.

Still, Eddie doesn’t falter, “No. Probably spit in it on your way here.”

You laugh, and it irks Eddie in a way that makes him want to shiver as if the sound were nails scraping against a chalkboard. He distracts himself with a drag of his cigarette as you say, “I didn’t, but thanks for the idea.”

Eddie grunts in response, focusing on the last of his smoke as you tell him you’ll see him inside before walking up the rest of the stairs. Eddie barely acknowledges you as you pass him, but he acknowledges the sound of something dropping beside his feet. He looks down with pinched eyebrows, eyeing the notebook lying on the wet ground.

It’s your notebook— obviously— he’d know that stupid journal from anywhere. It’s a pale yellow with two leather straps you like to tie in a lousy bow, and Eddie believes it’s an annoying color, but he thinks that has more to do with the fact that you chose it. Mindlessly, Eddie picks it up, shaking off the rainwater before it seeps into the pages, and he turns to give it to you because he’d assumed you realized you dropped it, but you’re gone.

Eddie blinks, eyeing the door and the book in his hands, and Eddie knows he should just follow you and give it back because that’s the right thing to do. Knows he shouldn’t peek inside to see what your mind is like, knows you’d probably kill him because Eddie would do the same if anyone looked into his thousands of journals back home, but his fingers itch, and before he can stop himself, he’s flicking his cigarette bud away, leaning against the building and cracking the front page open.

Eddie’s not sure what he’d expected. Maybe something interesting, like a list of dudes you’ve fucked or some rant about a friend, but Jesus, how much more boring could you get? Grocery lists, reminders to book appointments, dates for work meetings, boring shit that Eddie could care less about. He flicks through nearly half of the book before anything piques his interest, snickering when he comes across a page of you talking about a guy named Danny, “What a sap,” Eddie mumbles to himself, softly chuckling and turning the page.

He flips through a few more pages before halting because Eddie's name is right at the top of the page.

The door opens, and he jumps, fearing you might be searching for your lost journal, but it’s only a staff member. Eddie watches them trot down the steps before returning to the treasure in his hands, eagerly reading as if the book will turn to dust before he gets a chance.

And Eddie thinks he’s fucked up, screwed up in ways he never really wants to address. Despite Eddie’s outwardly attitude of thinking he’s the best at everything and knows all, there are still ugly parts of him that he so badly wants to reach inside and pull like weeds from a garden, crack his chest open, and take it from the root; pieces of him that can make him crumble quicker than a house of cards on a rickety table.

However, the way you write about Eddie— the words you use and the so careful placement of each thought— it makes Eddie feel something he forgot he ever could about himself, and he doesn’t like how it makes his insides twist. He hates it. Eddie hates that you can read him as if he’s a fucking children’s book. Hates that you can see and point out parts of him that have been lost for so long he’d thought it was a dream. He can’t stand it.

But as much as Eddie swears he hates what you’ve written and as much as he hates that it makes him feel something other than disdain, he can’t stop reading. He wants to read all you can say about him and only exist in the imagery you create of him because Eddie, for once in a long time, is someone in your eyes.

You write about Eddie like he is a person, a human being with real feelings and depth and a history of memories you’ve never seen or heard of before, but you still somehow manage to paint him so clearly. Inside your words, Eddie exists as more than the entity that fame has created him to be, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he read something about himself and didn’t feel like a pawn.

It’s… refreshing.

Eddie flips the page, thinking there will be more you’ve written about him, but he’s selfishly disappointed when he realizes it’s just a personal entry. He scans the page, nearly deciding to close it for the day, when he catches a glimpse of a familiar name— Gareth.

It takes Eddie a moment to fully grasp the words you’ve written, the meaning of what exactly you’re explaining that you’d apparently discussed with Gareth. As soon as he lets the words settle into his chest, he’s storming into the building quicker than he can comprehend.

Bursting through the room of Richie's rented studio, Eddie makes a beeline for the sound booth where Gareth is busy tapping out a steady beat.

Eddie barely acknowledges you and the rest of the band in discussion off to the side, but his abrupt appearance has halted all conversation in the room. He storms up to Gareth behind his drum set and wastes no time gripping the man’s collar, gaze lit with fire and words seething as he leans in and glares down at the man. The room goes silent as soon as the question leaves Eddie’s lips, “Did you fuck Chrissy?”

Chrissy Cunningham was Eddie Munson’s high school sweetheart.

As the story goes, Eddie spent the better part of high school crushing on the cute captain of the cheerleading squad. For as long as he can remember, Eddie had been labeled as the school freak— something to do with his love of fantasy games and ‘odd music taste’— so he’d never imagined he would get a chance with Chrissy, but that all changed after a weird spiral of events they experienced together.

Eddie and Chrissy dated for a few years until Corroded Coffin went big. The long-distance trial of their relationship didn’t last long; Eddie rarely called Chrissy, and when he did call, they could only ever find time to argue about whatever Eddie had been photographed doing. Chrissy never came to watch the band once they moved out to LA, and she broke Eddie's heart the one time she did.

So, it’s no surprise that reading the words in your journal has twisted the knife that’d been lodged in Eddie’s chest for so long that he was sure he couldn’t feel it anymore— he was wrong.

Gareth is looking at Eddie as if Eddie has asked him if the sky is blue and Eddie’s mind is a whirling wind of fire. “What are you talking about, man?” Gareth’s eyebrows pinch in confusion.

Eddie sneers and pulls him closer, Gareth leaning so far off his stool that Eddie's grip on his shirt is the only thing keeping him from the ground. Gareth drops his drumsticks to grab Eddie’s wrists as Eddie speaks, “Don’t bullshit me, Gareth. Did you fuck Chrissy, yes or no?”

Eddie looks at his best friend, and he sees lies, something he’s never had to associate with their friendship, and it almost hurts him more than what Chrissy did. Gareth stutters, shaking his head as if he wants to say no, tries to say no and deny that he slept with his best friend's girlfriend, but he can’t.

Gareth whispers Eddie’s name so quietly Eddie nearly misses it, but the quiver in his voice is all Eddie needs to hear to know the truth. Eddie doesn’t take a second to think before he cracks a closed fist down on his best friend's cheek, sending him back, crashing into the symbols in a clatter of noise.

He doesn’t wait to hear Gareth’s spew of apologies, and he doesn’t wait to listen to the pathetic excuses he makes up because he’s marching over to you next, a scowl on his face as he tosses your journal into your lap, and you look up at him in shock, “You dropped this on your way in.”

And if this is the end of Corroded Coffin, then Eddie’s sure you’ll have one hell of a story to write. That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it?

A good story.

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part three

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a/n: AHH U MADE IT TO THE END, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

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itsokbbygrl · 2 months

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Proper Education Masterlist A Dark!Joel x reader/OC Saltburn Inspired AU

Prologue:

Our tale begins in a far off land, under the burning heat of a Texan sun. Two lives irrevocably changed—one by love, the other, obsession. The dangerous naivete of youth combusting when exposed to the fire of envy, A flame fueled by privilege, ineffable wealth, beauty, and lust so consumes Our star-crossed pair, until all that remains is this— Is there such a thing as fate? Or merely the calculated hunt of a greater predator?

Inspired by this song and written to this soundtrack.

Chapter 1: Fair is Foul, and Foul is Fair Chapter 2: coming 3/22 at 7pm CT Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5: EPILOGUE:

follow and click "get notifications" at @itsokbbygrl-notifs for updates sent via push notification. new chapters to be published every other friday around 7pm CT as real life allows. this story will be 18+ and consist of mature content and dark themes. reader beware. additional warnings will be added as published.

tagging some mutuals who may be interested in reading: @swiftispunk @5oh5 @merci-killing @javierpena-inatacvest @mermaidgirl30 @sawymredfox @joelsgreenflannel @tightjeansjavi @netherfeildren @survivingandenduring

#THE BRAINROT WAS TOO REAL Y'ALL IT HAD TO BE DONE #posting this to hold myself accountable and actually fucking finish it #LJ writes #a wee teaser #joel miller fanfiction #joel x reader #joel x you #joel x oc #au #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #warnings and rating will be updated as writing continues #but this is DARK JOEL #so like #reader beware

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lambsouvlaki · 8 months

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For the Hell of It - Putting on a Show(*)

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: NSFW, smut, pre-discussed kink, light bdsm, voyeurism & exhibitionism (discussed, nothing is done in public).

Word count: 1,929

Summary: Jason tries being a little meaner in the bedroom, to delightful results for everyone.

Masterlist

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In the middle of the night, the bedroom door opened and the Red Hood walked in.

Andy looked up from the book she had been reading. It was a little after three in the morning with the muted sigh of wind rushing past the lofty heights of his apartment. The bedside lamp cast the large industrial-styled room in golden light and murky shadows.

Jason shut the door behind him.

She opened her mouth to ask how patrol went, then found the words dying in her throat. He was standing at the door, mask inscrutable, observing her in silence.

Belatedly it struck her that she had never seen him wear his armour into the bedroom before. She slid her reading onto the bedside table and cocked her head at him.

“Did you wait up for me?” His voice rumbled through the modulator.

“Blame the jet lag.” She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d try again once you got back.”

He slowly crossed the space between them.

She pulled her knees up under the blankets. She didn’t know what to make of the way he studied her, but her body already knew how it felt about having his sole focus. The armour only made it worse. She wondered if he knew.

“You remember that talk we had?”

“Which one?” she looked up, only to recall exactly the conversation he was referring to, in the face of blinding white lenses. “Oh.”

Her cheeks warmed. She was very aware of the looming figure standing over her, and anticipation unfurled within her.

“Yes, I remember.”

He pulled his gloves off, loosening finger by finger. He reached down a warm, bare hand and gently traced her cheek. His thumb grazed her lip. He pushed down lightly. She opened her mouth. He slid it in and she curled her lips around it.

He drew his damp thumb back and traced it down her jaw to tilt her chin up.

“The safe word?”

As though it hadn’t been branded onto her mind the moment she agreed to this.

She repeated the word. It came out breathless.

He turned away.

“Take off your clothes.”

Her cotton shirt then her silky bra and matching panties landed on the floor. Her nipples pebbled in the sudden cold. She sat bolt upright, awaiting further instructions. Her heart in its cage beat like the wings of a hummingbird.

Jason reached up to take his helmet off and placed it on the desk.

“Lie down,” he said and he removed his weapons. “Spread your legs, and get yourself warmed up for me.”

A blush rose in her cheeks. He sat in the armchair, facing her. He leaned back, with his legs casually spread wide, and lit up a smoke. He watched her expectantly.

She did as she was told.

She had never put on any kind of performance before, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her now. Most nights Jason relished this part himself. He was an artist with his fingers and she was his sculpture, beauty and pleasure drawn from stoic marble. Tonight he was the audience, and she was artist and art together.

The idea turned from daunting into arousing without her noticing. Her timidity fell away and her pleasure rose.

In the half light the glint of the cigarette reflected in his eyes.

“Do you touch yourself when I’m out?”

She shook her head, mussing her hair against the sheets.”

“No?” he drawled, incredulous.

“No.” It didn’t occur to her to be dishonest. Her role in the scene was not a fabricated one.

“Why not?”

“I… prefer the ache of waiting for you.”

He swore quietly.

“There’s a toy in the bedside table. Get to it.”

She reached out blindly and swiftly found it. Jason enjoyed using it on her, but she had never used it on her own. It let him draw out and build up her pleasure to his own exacting standards without getting distracted by his own ends. He was a wretched tease. She both adored and hated the thing.

He took a long drag of smoke as she adjusted. Her head tipped back against the pillows. Her eyes fluttered shut, but she didn’t want to lose sight of him and kept reopening them. He watched with burning intensity.

Her excitement built and built, far past any notions of simply warming up. He had told her to get ready for him, but he made no move beyond stubbing the cigarette out and attempting to brand her with the heat of his eyes alone.

“Can I… can I climax?” she asked.

“No.”

She withheld her whine.

Normally Jason’s body language was so open and reassuring around her. This was nothing of the sort. The Red Hood, hard and uncompromising, watched her fuck herself on a dildo, and she was more hopelessly turned on than she had ever been under her own touch.

Slowing down was unthinkable as stopping. She had unthinkingly built her pace up, and now she had no off-ramp.

She wasn’t going to ask again.

She wasn’t.

With one hand cast over her face and the other between her legs, she writhed.

Jason let out a harsh breath and stood. Every heavy step towards her felt like salvation and doom both.

He put a hand on her shaking knee.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Despite the calluses and the hardness of his demeanour, his thumb rubbed her skin in a familiar reassurance.

It did not help her predicament. Her breath hitched.

He pushed her hand aside and withdrew the toy. He replaced it with two of his fingers.

She moaned. His touch set her alight and her breath grew thin. His touch was as scorching as his gaze which pinned her down like a lance through the chest.

“I’m-I’m going to cum if you keep doing that,” she said.

So he stopped.

She wanted to cry. She covered her face with her hands and took desperate heaving breaths.

The sound of unbuckling belts cut through her panting.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes snapped open.

Jason lifted her by her hips and impaled her in one blow.

She sang out in relief.

He set a swift pace, slowing only a moment to let her rearrange pillows to support her back, shooting her straight back to the loft heights she had teetered along for so long. He drove her higher still. His thumb rubbed circles over her clit only twice, and her climax slammed into her.

Her whole body shook. He did not slow his pace, relentlessly working her through it.

She breathed hard as she came down, arching her back for him. The relief was short lived but it brought her a moment of clarity.

Jason’s focus was fixed to her entrance, watching himself sink in and out, in and out. So locked up inside his own head tonight.

“Okay?” she asked quietly, breaking character.

His eyes flickered up to hers, and he gave a short nod. His hand on her hip gave a quick squeeze.

Then the hard tilt returned to his jaw and they were back in it.

“Spent the night at a strip club,” he said harshly.

Her eyebrows rose. It was unusual only in that he was telling her about it: his protection extended to sex workers all over the city. She trusted him, it was a non-issue.

“Working out a territory dispute. Negotiations. Should have been done hours ago. But no, they had to keep stopping to watch the girls.” His lip curled and he changed his angle to something deeper. “Made them make out and touch each other. As though we’re there for a good time, as though I have any interest in getting hard with that pack of slavering animals.”

He brushed his sweat slicked hair from his face and swore. She was so helplessly turned on by him even when he was hacked off, she couldn’t come up with any response.

“Waste of my fucking time,” he growled, thrusting with emphasis. “When I have you alone in my bed. Waiting for me. Clenching on nothing. Dripping wet, just for me. Aren’t you, sweets?”

“Yes.”

He pulled out.

She made a needy noise of objection.

“On your knees or in your mouth?”

She rolled over without hesitation.

He chuckled. He ran his hands up her body, possessive and appreciative. He gently pushed her down onto all fours and pushed back in. His pace was more sedate now and his grip softer, having worked out some of his frustrations.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

“Did you get hard at the club?” she asked.

His pace stuttered. “What?”

She reached back to touch his thigh, a silent reassurance she was still in character.

“Did it turn you on, surrounded by beautiful women making out with each other?”

The snap of his hips picked up. “Yes,” he conceded, arousal and shame and frustration in his voice.

She looked back over her shoulder. Her hair was tousled, her skin flushed, and her lips swollen from where she bit them.

“Were you thinking of me?”

“I–” The look he gave her was a little stunned, a little star struck.

“There, in that red lingerie you bought me, draped over you?” If he wasn’t thinking it before, he was now.

A whispered “yes,” passed his lips. The burning intensity rose in his eyes once more.

“...touching myself?”

He made a hungry noise in his throat.

“Up on the stage, in front of everyone,” she said, as she looked forward again, flicking her hair aside and arching her back. “Putting on a show?”

He growled, then she was pinned to the bed.

“I’d have to kill them all for looking at you,” he said into her ear, bending over her. “And I would–mm–before I’d take you right there.”

He stood tall again, still holding her bent in half with a hand on the back of her neck. His other hand was on the meat of her ass, to drag her back to meet him. He put one leg up on the bed next to her for more power. A thick muscled thigh rippled against her side. Raging waves of need pulled her back down into the depths.

“Trying to upset me, sweetheart?” he asked, back to ruthless and in full control. She was in paradise. “You know only I get to see you like this. That’s why you’re mine.”

She whimpered, so close to the edge.

“Only I can hold you down and fuck you like you deserve. Only I get to watch you writhe… hear you beg.”

“Hnng, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please! Jason, I–I– fuck, Jay, I don’t– I need..”

“That’s my girl,” he said, dark and appreciative. “You know you’re mine before anything else.”

She sobbed a cry.

“You can cum,” he drawled, sneaking a hand around her hip to reach her clit.

Her climax rocked through her violently. Her vision blanked and her body seized up in great wracking jolts. Her mouth hung open, breathing hard against the blanket.

She vaguely heard his voice encouraging her through it, before he followed after her into bliss.

He curled over her back and held her fast against his hips. He growled her name in her ear.

The last of her strength fled her limbs. It felt like her bones had simply melted.

He collapsed on the bed behind her. With shaking, tired arms he gathered her to himself and nuzzled into her neck. He made a soft inquisitive noise. She sighed in contentment in reply. They tangled their legs together, and basked in the afterglow.

Next>>

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #for the hell of it #my fanfic #dc #jason todd x reader smut #buyer beware #sub!reader #dom!Jason #with some light role switching as the mood changes #I wasn't going to post this one but somebody asked for more smut so here we are

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mothheart · 7 months

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i finally did it, my first cecilos fanfic :D

#its smut so reader beware and whatnot #cecilos #im not putting any other main tags bc im scared #miles writes

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peach-cream-enmu-archive · 2 years

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I wanna write more, about mc being wanted by nearly every demon in the devildom…

Students at RAD having a fan club for you, the cute human exchange student, what they wouldn’t give to have you look at them, to touch you, to fuck you

I have some previous works for the topic (mostly containing the reader being spelled/hypnotized and gang banged and worshipped by demons) but I want to write more!!!

#obey me smut #obey me dark content technically #my whole blog is dark content so beware an stuff

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idyllicbby · 11 months

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y’all pls read this book it’s so good 4/5 for sureee

#彡: book talk #romance books #bookblr #it has smut so beware #there’s a free audiobook offered on the kindle app too!

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grey-fuckers-unlimited · 1 year

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idk I've been getting some tags so i wanted to clear something up real quick: these poses are made on a free/pay-what-you-want android app (magic poser) (no clue what the pricing currently looks like on iOS the apps are basically completely different at the moment going by the discord)

You can make your own, The government won't even try to stop you.

plus the app comes with this screen: IE this blog but there's a million of them by a bunch of folk instead of a handfull by just 1 gay, and they're all tagged. You can open them and move the camera and make edits and save them to ur account if you aren't comfortable starting from scratch.

(the playframe stream isn't included I'm just watching that rn.)

#i will admit #the quality on that library is uhhhhhhhhh #variable.#And theres been issues with people posting smut to the main library so like beware if thats something that bothers you

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heya-but-better · 3 months

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Eyyyy what’s up my ladies, lads and comrades!

Don’t ask me why I colored them, I just see funny colors and I must

Click

Anyway, I got a fic for you guys! My first official fic on ao3!

Enjoy!!!!

#bnha #mha #dabi #dabi todoroki #bnha dabi #mha dabi #todoroki touya #bnha hawks #hotwings #dabihawks smut #fantasy bnha #it’s going to turn into dead dove really fast #beware #they speak so silly and I love them #once upon a time I swore myself I’d never write omegaverse #having said that #omegaverse #just heya-ified

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atlasshrugd · 5 months

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↳ Chapter 8 of White Nights is up! Read on AO3

“He has taken all my soul into his soul,” Porsche gasps, blind. “Until I have become a new man.” “Does this new man,” the priest asks, after a moment. “Have impure thoughts?” Porsche bites his tongue. “Yes,” he breathes. His eyes are hot and stinging. “But the trouble is, Father…when I am committing this sin, I feel the purest I have ever felt in my life.”

#the smut is finally here !!#beware this chapter is smutty #couldn't resist dropping it so soon #kinnporsche #kinnporsche fics #white nights #kp fics #my fics #kpts #kinn x porsche #smut #mileapo #perfumes ao3 #film noir #mine #kinnporsche fic #kp fic #kinnporsche the series

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mycomfortblanket · 1 year

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Could We

Chapter Two

They're standing across the room from each other in Toph's bedroom. She can feel Aang staring at her and for some reason, she feels the need to hide herself even though she's covered... kind of. She's wearing her sleeping shirt and underwear, which is basically what she wears when she's home whether he is there or not.

"Okay, well, let's start out with just normal sex and then next time, we'll do rough. Show me how you start," she tries to keep the tremble out of her voice. Spirits know she is a little nervous about this. Why, she has no idea. It's just Aang, her best friend.

"Oh, uh," he walks towards her a little and she can feel the heat radiating off of him. She swallows hard and takes a stabilizing breath and directs her gaze up slightly to where she thinks his eyes are. "Well, normally, I'd kiss her-"

"Right, but we said no kissing, so what would you do next?"

Aang fidgets slightly where he stands, "Uh, I guess we would end up on the bed? Making out?"

"Why are you asking me? I'm not giving you a test, I want to know what you do and how you do it," she crawls onto the bed and lays back on the pillows. She feels Aang sit on the bed next to her knee, "Okay, so we're on the bed. Now what? What do you do after kissing?"

"Well, like. I move from kissing her to trailing down her neck and eventually to her chest," he gestures towards her as if she could see him.

"Did she like that?"

"I think so?"

"You think so? Well, were you any good at it?" Toph questions, sitting up slightly and cocking an eyebrow at him. Why is he making this so difficult?

"How would I know if I was good at it?"

"Spirits, Aang. Did she not say if you were good at it? Or did she give you any signs that she was into it, like moaning or gripping your hair or something?"

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. I mean, there was sometimes when she would just kind of arch her neck as I traveled down." He sounds so unsure of himself and as much as she thinks this is a bad idea to start off this way, Toph leans back against the pillows again.

"Fine, show me how you do it." She doesn't feel him move for a moment, but eventually, she feels his hand press down onto the mattress beside her hip as he crawls up her body. She tilts her head to the side slightly so he can access her neck.

Aang's breath hits her skin and her own breath hitches just slightly, and thank the spirits he doesn't notice. Her stoamch clenches as she waits for his lips to make contact with her skin. Why is she so anxious for this to happen? Is it because she's excited about being able to direct someone so vividly in bed to the point where she is going to be able to get everything she wants?

He presses a soft kiss under her jaw and then moves down slightly, his nose grazing against her skin. Toph's breath stops and she fights the urge to lift one of her hand sup and thread it through his hair, to pull him closer.

He makes his way down her neck, biting slightly at the skin near her collarbones and then placing a soft kiss on her clavicle before pulling back from her. Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, Toph opens her eyes, not knowing when she had closed them.

"Good. That was good, you're uh... good in that department," she fidgets with the blanket beside her hip slightly, "Did you ever leave hickies or anything like that? Or was she not into that?"

"No, she didn't like it, never wanted me to do it."

"Right, okay," she swallows hard, "Now take off my shirt, and show me where you go from there."

He grips the bottom of her shirt and pulls it off of her, throwing it over the side of the bed. Somehow, he had moved in between her legs, although not touching her, but rather looming over her. She isn't sure why, but she loves the feeling of him being so close to her like this.

"Well, normally, I'd kiss her again."

"For fucks sake. Just kiss me so we can move on," she growls.

Aang awkwardly coughs but moves in towards her. She isn't expecting him to be so quick with the kiss, which is why, when his lips press firmly against hers, she squees her eyes shut and wraps a leg around his waist, pulling him down to her. She tilts her head, slotting their lips together in a more natural way and fuck, his lips feel like heaven pressed against hers. She can hear his breath hitch when she bites his lip and it makes all of her sense roar to life. The feeling of him pressing himself against her, the hardness that is starting to press against her inner thigh, just everything about him is so intoxicating in this moment.

He let's out a surprised noise, but doesn't pull away from her either, "Toph-" he murmurs against her lips.

"Just keep going," she says, "I'll correct you as you go."

She feels him hesitate for just a moment and she's about to pull back, to ask if it's too much, but his lips press back in and start to work against hers. His tongue makes it's way into her mouth and slides along hers. She raises a hand and grips the side of his face, holding him to her. Fuck, it's been a while since she's been kissed like this.

One of his hands leaves the mattress beside her head and travels down to her breast through her bralette, but stops there. Reaching up with her own hand, she places it over his and squeezes her breast softly, gently helping him massage her as they continue to kiss. She pulls the cup of the bralette to the side and again, she feels him hesitate.

Pulling back from his lips just slightly, she whispers, "Here, like this." She takes his indez finger and thumb and guides it to her nipple, showing him how to roll it between his fingers and how much pressure to put on it. "Fuck, okay, like that. Keep doing that," she lifts her chin up to him, wanting to go back in for a kiss. But, he uses his jaw to gently turn her head to the side and his lips attach to her neck, causing her to suck in a breath.

He's good. A lot better than she thought he was going to be and they haven't even really done anything. Toph feels his teeth graze the skin of her neck as he shifts downwards. He comes to her breast and replaces his fingers withhis mouth, his lips locking onto her nipple. His hands smooth down the expanse of her stoamch and grip onto her hips, his blunt nails digging into her skin.

She involuntarily bucks her hips up, wanting to feel some pressure in between her legs, but he just pushes her back down, not giving her the satisfaction. Her hands come up to rest on his shoulders, her own nails creating little creasents in his skin through his shirt. He hums slightly from the pain and the vibrations from his lips onto her breast elicits a gasp from her.

Aang pulls off her breast and looks up at her with a slightly confused look, "What? Was that weird?"

"No! No, uh, you're doing fine. Just keep going." Aang smirks to himself and instead of lowering his mouth back to her nipple, he kisses the valley between her breasts. Toph feels one of his hands slide down from her waist and move her thigh outwards, grazing the inside of it with his fingernails. He grips the back of her knee and pulls her leg up to rest on his hip. She lifts her hips up again, trying to find some friction, but he still just pulls away from her.

His mouth travels down her stomach and moves to her hipbone while his hands squeeze her upper thighs. Arching her back off the bed, Toph lifts one of her hands from his shoulders and and threadas her fingers through his short hair. Her grip tightens when she feels his teeth sink into the skin on her hipbone, leaving a bite mark. He pulls away from her and stands on his knees above her, "How am I doing?" he asks, his voice compeltely normal sounding.

She has to swallow a few times to even make her tongue work, "Fin-fine. You're d-doing fine. How are you in the oral department?" a warm wetness pools between her legs at the thought of how his tongue could take her apart. She isn't even fully naked and she can't wait to have more of him touching her.

Aang rests his hands on her bent knees and shrugs casually, "I'm not sure. She never really... said anything about it afterwards."

Toph scrunches her eyebrows together in confusion, "Well, did she moan or writhe on the bed or anything?"

"Kind of?"

"How many times had you been down there?" she asks.

"I'd say maybe 4 times? I don't think she really liked it. She certainly didn't like kissing me afterwards." Toph's cheeks go red at the thought of tasting herself on his lips. How fucking hot would that be if he fucker her with his fingers as she tasted her cum on his tongue.

"Okay, well. Let's see what you've got," she waves at him to indicate that she wants him to continue.

Aang glances up at her, at the confident and easy going look on her face as he grips the waistband of her panties and slowly peels them down her legs. His heart feels like it's beating a million miles an hour and he is just barely able to hide the tremble in his hands.

Katara had practically been his first, the only other time before that was as a teenager and was a lot more awkward fumbling than anything. For some reason, Aang wants to impress Toph. She certainly knows what she wants and she knows what is deemed good and respectable, so if he is able to wow her, he knows he could wow anyone.

When he has her panties fully removed, he parts her knees with his hands and he can see her wetness from whwere he is sitting in front of her. She's practically dripping and his mouth involuntarily waters. He was never exactly excited to go down on Katara for some reason, but with Toph, he can't wait to get his mouth on her.

Aang runs his hands up her thighs and then wraps his arms underneath them as he settles on his stomach. Toph's hips shift up slightly in anticipation and Aang has to take a deep breath in to try and calm his nerves. By doing so though, he inhales her scent and great Spirits above, he fucking needs her now.

Before he puts his mouth where he wants it the most, he turns his head and latches his lips onto the inside of her upper thight and sucks hard. He needs to calm down a little or he's going to make himself cum and he's still fully clothed.

When his lips make contact with the inside of her thigh, Toph cries out in surprise but the noise fades off into a moan. he nibbles at the skin a little until he is sure that a bruise will form. Pulling back and looking at the blooming red spot, he smirks to himself. Katara never let him leave marks on her, and now, he just left one next to Toph's most intimate area.

For a second, the thought of this makes him hesitate. He just left a bruise from his mouth on the inside of his best friend's thigh, right before he eats her out. This thought should make him feel some negative way, like it's wrong, like he should never see her this way. But that feeling never comes. Instead, all he can feel is intense desire and anticiaption to taste her.

Aang glances up at Toph, he sees that her eyebrows are scrunched toghether as she waits for him and she's biting her lower lip. He smiles to himself just a little. Thank the Spirits, it's the first outward sign other than her being wet that shows that she's enjoying this. Smiling to himself, Aang lowers his head until his lips just barely graze her. She sucks in a breath at the miniscule contact and her hips raises agin. He tightens his grtip on her hips and attempts ot hold her down.

He moves in closer again and tentatively reaches out his tongue and drags it through her folds causing a low moan to escape from her lips. Spirits, fuck. The taste of her on his tongue shoots something through him causing him to inhale deeply. The smell of her mixed with the lingering taste on his tongue is something he didn't realize he had been missing.

Toph reaches down again and threads her fingers through his short hair and pulls him back towards her center, urging him to put his mouth on her again. He licks up her slit again and he just barely feels her clit.

He doesn't know much about female anatomy, but he knows that that part is incredinly important. It was the only way he could ever get Katara off. He wraps his lips around the little bud and flicks his tongue back and forth on it quickly.

Toph's grip tightens on his hair to just this side of painful, but he doesn't pull off. He wouldn't even if he could. The feel of her on his mouth is amazing and downright sinful. His lips remain latched on for a few more seconds, but when he creates a suction with his lips, she jerks her hips away, causing his mouth losing contact with her.

Aang pops his head up, thinking that he did something wrong, but before he can ask, she says, "Do it again," her voice breathless.

Smirking to himself, Aang licks another broad strip up her center, spreading her lips as he goes before he latches onto her clit once more. This time, when her hips jerk, he's ready for it, and is able to hold her down as he gently sucks. The moan that comes from Toph is something he didn't ever think she was capable of. She's certainly never made that noise when she has brought other guys home before.

Aang glances up at her once more when he releases the suction on her clit and does a rapid tongue flick over the sensitive bud. He watches as her back arches and she starts trying to pry at one of his hands that is holding her hips down. d

"Finger me. Start with just one," she says, her voice cracking.

He hesitates, not entirely sure how to do this. Katara always thought it was weird if he put his fingers inside her, she said it hurt too much. But if Toph is telling him to do it...

He pulls back one of his hands and sucks his middle finger into his mouth, getting it slightly wet before he brings it down to her. He rubs the pad of his finger over her and then slowly pushes into her, his eyes never leaving her face, watching for any sign of discomfort.

Toph's eyebrows pinch together and he hears the way her breath stutters. He keeps his eye son her face as he gently begins to pump in and out of her. Her hands come down and grips the sheets next to her hips so tightly, he thinks that she oculd possibly tear a hole in the fabric.

"Okay, look," Aang glances up at her. She lifts one of her hands from where it's clutching the sheets and she crooks her finger in a 'come hither' motion. "Do like this, about an inch inside. You'll feel-" Aang cross his finger just like she says, and she cuts herself off, "Fuck, yes. Like that."

Smiling to himself like he's won a prize, he continues to pump his giner into her, curling the digit just right every time he brushes past that spot. When he thinks he's got the motion down, he adds another finger and the pitch of Toph's moans change.

He brings his face back down to her center and seeks her clit out with his tongue. It takes him a second, but after a few passes with his tongue, he is able to find the little nub. Her breath is coming faster and faster as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of her at a steady pace and the flick of his tongue in time with her breathing.

"I'm close," she warns him, and he doubles his effort, pressing in closer to her and pumping his fingers a little faster. It's only a moment later that her thihgs clamp around his head and her hands grabs his pair, pulling him in even closer. From where he is between her legs, he can see her mouth open in a silent scream and he thinks she's stopped breathing.

For just a second, he thinks maybe he has hurt her, but then when he feel the fluttering of her walls gripping his finger, Aang's eyes widen as he realizes that she's climaxing.

He watches with rapt attention as wave after wave of euphoria crashes over her until finally, her legs unclench from aorund his head and her fingers go slack in his hair. Her breathing is still labored when he pulls his fingers from her and they make an obscenely wet noise which she slightly flinches at.

"Gross," she giggles. Laughing with her a little, Aang crawls up from between her legs and hovers over her.

"So?" He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Verdit?"

Toph purses her lips and then laughs and pushes him off of her so she can sit up. "Definitely one of my better orgasms, I'll give you that." He watches as she stands up and stretches her hands above her head. She starts to walk towards the door but he hops off the bed and stops her with a confused look, "Wait, we're not going to finish?"

She turns her head and cocks her head at him, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean..." he getures with his hands even thought she can't see it. "I mean... I was kind of hoping we could finish the sex so that I-"

'Oh!" she laughs, "Yeah, we are. I need some water first. I'll be right back.

~~~

Katara had practically been his first, the only other time before that was as a teenager, and was a lot more awkward fumbling than anything. For some reason, Aang wants to impress Toph. She certainly knows what she wants and she knows what is deemed good and respectable, so if he is able to wow her, he knows he could wow anyone.

When he has her panties fully removed, he parts her knees with his hands and he can see her wetness from where he is sitting in front of her. She's practically dripping and his mouth involuntarily waters. He was never exactly excited to go down on Katara for some reason, but with Toph, he can't wait to get his mouth on her.

Before he puts his mouth where he wants it the most, he turns his head and latches his lips onto the inside of her upper thigh and sucks hard. He needs to calm down a little or he's going to make himself cum and he's still fully clothed.

Aang glances up at Toph, he sees that her eyebrows are scrunched together as she waits for him and she's biting her lower lip. He smiles to himself just a little. Thank the Spirits, it's the first outward sign other than her being wet that shows that she's enjoying this. Smiling to himself, Aang lowers his head until his lips just barely graze her. She sucks in a breath at the minuscule contact and her hips raise again. He tightens his grip on her hips and attempts to hold her down.

He doesn't know much about female anatomy, but he knows that that part is incredibly important. It was the only way he could ever get Katara off. He wraps his lips around the little bud and flicks his tongue back and forth on it quickly.

Aang pops his head up, thinking that he did something wrong, but before he can ask, she says, "Do it again," her voice breathless.

Smirking to himself, Aang licks another broad strip up her center, spreading her lips as he goes before he latches onto her clit once more. This time, when her hips jerk, he's ready for it and is able to hold her down as he gently sucks. The moan that comes from Toph is something he didn't ever think she was capable of. She's certainly never made that noise when she has brought other guys home before.

"Finger me. Start with just one," she says, her voice cracking.

He hesitates, not entirely sure how to do this. Katara always thought it was weird if he put his fingers inside her, she said it hurt too much. But if Toph is telling him to do it...

Toph's eyebrows pinch together and he hears the way her breath stutters. He keeps his eyes on her face as he gently begins to pump in and out of her. Her hands come down and grip the sheets next to her hips so tightly, he thinks that she could possibly tear a hole in the fabric.

"Okay, look," Aang glances up at her. She lifts one of her hands from where it's clutching the sheets and she crooks her finger in a 'come hither' motion. "Do like this, about an inch inside. You'll feel-" Aang crooks his finger just like she says, and she cuts herself off, "Fuck, yes. Like that."

Smiling to himself like he's won a prize, he continues to pump his finger into her, curling the digit just right every time he brushes past that spot. When he thinks he's got the motion down, he adds another finger, and the pitch of Toph's moans changes.

"I'm close," she warns him, and he doubles his effort, pressing in closer to her and pumping his fingers a little faster. It's only a moment later that her thighs clamp around his head and her hands grab his pair, pulling him in even closer. From where he is between her legs, he can see her mouth open in a silent scream and he thinks she's stopped breathing.

For just a second, he thinks maybe he has hurt her, but then when he feels the fluttering of her walls gripping his finger, Aang's eyes widen as he realizes that she's climaxing.

He watches with rapt attention as wave after wave of euphoria crashes over her until finally, her legs unclench from around his head and her fingers go slack in his hair. Her breathing is still labored when he pulls his fingers from her and they make an obscenely wet noise which she slightly flinches at.

"Gross," she giggles. Laughing with her a little, Aang crawls up from between her legs and hovers over her.

"So?" He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Verdict?"

She turns her head and cocks her head at him, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean..." he gestures with his hands even though she can't see it. "I mean... I was kind of hoping we could finish the sex so that I-"

'Oh!" she laughs, "Yeah, we are. I need some water first. I'll be right back.

#Taang #taang smut #smut #toph beifong #aang #toph x aang #aang x toph #atla #avatar the last airbender #buddies helping buddies out #this is strictly smut so beware

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idle-alena · 2 years

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Ch 1. Here Comes The Sun

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.7k Summary: A new beginning led you to find a familiar face. Warnings: Nothing happens, just context

Full Work Index // Next Ch // Read it on AO3

The alarm went buzzing below your pillow, awakening you gently.

This was the first Monday morning you woke up before midday, basically because you used the whole vacation period as your own personal hibernation, barely waking up to eat and shower. You had three months, and yet, the sleepiness hit you like a truck as if you didn’t have a chance to close your eyes.

You moved one arm to get to the light switch beside your bed, letting your fingers linger above it just a moment before deciding your next move. Without opening your eyes, you savored the feeling of laying in bed, that sensation of moving for the first time all your limbs after a few hours of not, being stiff and still a bit sleepy, unresponsive. You began by moving first your legs: one by one; then your other arm, still under the soft bed sheets, touching them with the exposed skin your pajamas didn’t cover. You snug below the comfortable sensation. Letting out the bit of skin on your fingers revealed the cold weather expecting you once you got out. Even though you prefer a chilly forecast –rather than being covered in sweat and not being able to sleep, wanting to rip off your skin– it still was hard to let go of the coziness and put the blankets to the side.

"Are you awake yet?" Your mom shouted from the next room.

The walls in the department were so thin that the reason you now woke up with a buzz instead of sound, was so that she could stop entering unannounced every time she heard it. 22 years with you and she still doesn't get the concept of privacy... as well as a couple other more. You figured if she didn’t hear the alarm, she wouldn’t stop by your room to try and make conversation as if you were fully awake. Most mornings you woke up in a bad mood, grumpy.

"Mmmmh." You were sure she heard it, even after getting no response, but her steps quieted after you spoke, giving the impression she walked away. The growl you made was of pure tiredness, wanting to stay in and close your eyes again, but you knew if you stayed in bed a moment longer you would fall asleep again, and it was already getting late.

Starting the 6º semester of College wasn't something you looked forward to. It's not like you were unhappy or hated your mayor, but you didn’t expect to enact emotions unless it’s a life-changing event.

The classes were nice, the teachers were nice – recommendations from friends–, the gym sessions with your friends were nice.. and yet, you had a restless night, having trouble falling asleep, as if you were about to embark on a journey and were ansty, not being able to wait.

Finally, you turned on the bluish cool lights in your room, they were harsh on your eyes, sore from the lack of sleep. Why did I agree to go to the gym this early?

The gym bag was already made from the night before, you just put on a baggy tracksuit and some socks before entering the bathroom. The bloodshot eyes, messy hair, and some pimple patches were meeting you in the mirror. Why did I agree to go to the gym this early? You weren't an early bird, you were a night owl, what was I thinking?

Despite complaining, you washed your face, put on moisturizer, sunscreen, and brushed your hair, and wrapped it in whatever got it out of your face, maybe later when you showered you would style it.

You made your way to the kitchen at a few steps length. Paper thin walls and the size of a pea, you thought. Compared to your father's house, this was small; two bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, and not even a balcony. It was a perfect eat-shower-sleep apartment, but for living here? No way.

"I boiled some water for my tea, I left some for your coffee." Your mom signaled the stove, with a mug beside it. She made her way out of the kitchen with her phone in one hand and her mug in the other, making signals to be quiet, leaving you behind her.

Her polished look didn’t take you by surprise, the clock wasn’t even near 9 am and she was already in a suit, with heels, blow-dried hair, and finishing her morning tea. Stoic as always.

"Thanks." You whispered, she would get mad if you weren’t polite even though she couldn't hear you anymore, and you had neither the time nor the energy to deal with her scolds.

The boiling water poured into the instant coffee and it dissolved entirely, the voice of your mom could be heard, she was talking about some plans and budget reports you couldn't quite understand. You got the soy milk for the coffee and mixed it with a cinnamon cookie, no need for spoons or a proper breakfast since the gym routine would just agitate your stomach. The tapping of your mom’s heels got louder as you sipped on the mug.

"Where are you going so..." Your mum started to say, making you turn towards her, still sipping loudly, as you saw her leaving her phone on the counter she looked you up and down with a judgy look. “dressed up?” Passive aggressive much? She was the type of person to assess the type of person based on how they looked, she weighed appearance greatly, always emphasizing it on you every chance she had.

“I promised Mikasa to test out her new routine, I have time before my first class." More than anything she was asking for an explanation on why you weren’t polished for at least the first day of the semester.

My god, am I going to be sore tomorrow. Mikasa is such a pro with her workout routines, she made you a custom beginner one because you thought didn't have any upper strength and wanted to, but even after trying her lower strength one, you realized you had neither.

"Mikasa is the one in Kinesiology?" She tossed her hair around, unfazed by her own questions.

"No mom, she's in Political Science" She grabbed her phone as you started to sip the coffee, once she got into her little screen, and that meant she was paying even less attention to her surroundings, you could practically say anything and she would just nod without acknowledging the content.

You grabbed more cinnamon cookies from some opened package in the cabinets. There wasn't anything much to eat in here, but coffee and tea were never missing. You were never here much anyways, she worked and you were out with friends most of the time.

"Well, see you at... night?" She waved goodbye without even moving her eyes away from whatever she was reading. She never once memorized your schedule, you sent her one at the beginning of every semester, just to see if maybe once in a while you could overlap your eating times and do it together, at some restaurant at least; it didn't happen often. She left her mug on the sink, and quickly grabbed her purse, and started to leave.

"I'm done by 4 today." It was just the two of you on weekdays, here in this little apartment which, conveniently, was close to her work and your college.

"No. I'll see you at night, I'm staying late." She went out the door before you could even ask anything, but that was the thing with her, sometimes she would feel like your sister and the next like your mother.

8:48, shit I'm going to be late. Mikasa said 9 o'clock, and by that, OF COURSE she meant before 9, she was so punctual and responsible, unlike you. You were living while the moment lasted, there were barely any plans for the next week, let alone months. This was the limbo stage in your life, only uncertainty was certain. That applied to anything in your life, your school work, your friends, and –of course– lovers.

You’ve had boyfriends, but none of them lasted more than 3 months… except for one...

You chugged the rest of your coffee and grabbed on a pair of running shoes with the rest of the stuff.

It didn't take long before you parked just outside the gym facilities on campus, you could see Mikasa through the glass doors, already waiting for you, you waved and smiled as if you didn’t notice how late it was as if it was on purpose. As you ran towards her she gave you a disapproving nod, signaling her watch.

"I said 9." Her voice was calm and polite, she wasn’t mad or you would be sure from the tone alone. You started walking toward the machines while grabbing her hand and smiling as a way of saying sorry. It’s 9 on point tho.

She completely destroyed any hope you had of being a little bit over the beginner level, you couldn't even lift 10 kgs with your core without tremendous effort, she was thinking of making a new routine for beginners to upload to her Instagram, but now… watching you, she would have to change the difficulty on the exercises or the target audience. You weren't even that weak, but she had such a strict routine, while you barely did cardio while on vacation, it's not like you had one hobby keeping you occupied, you were just not that consistent or inspired by exercise.

As you were finishing and starting to cool down with some standard stretches, Mikasa quickly wiped down her body with a towel and started to walk towards the door.

"I'm going to leave you alone for the cooldown, I need to call Eren and make sure he isn't still sleeping or he will be late for his first day." She never gave you an apologetic look when leaving to care for Eren. She worried about him and it wasn't an inconvenience for her to care after. It wasn't exactly a secret that she loved him, and that he wasn't sure about his feelings, but neither Mikasa nor Eren explicitly spoke to you about it, even after 8 years of knowing them, that relationship was an enigma. To your eyes Mikasa always ended with the short end of the stick, she always seemed so busy and worried, but that was just another type of relationship you weren't accustomed to. Or so you would repeat to yourself. Eren had dropped out of his classes at least twice, recurred to dead-end jobs here and there, without any purpose at all, while Mikasa had brand deals, a career, and clear goals. If Mikasa wanted advice or help she would have come up with the topic already.

You just nodded as she waved goodbye and left. It was 10:30 and you should have been running to the showers with her if you wanted to make it to your first class, but as it was canceled because the teacher was still on their vacation trip, you had until 1 pm to get ready.

The same lack of consistency you had on keeping a hobby, translated to your own school work, but somehow you managed to get average grades without putting effort, but you may want... someday... to pursue a field that requires good grades, you still didn't know what you are going to do.

I’m complaining about Eren but we are practically the same, the only difference is that I ain’t got the guts to drop out.

You snapped out of it, stretching your legs one last time, and headed for your car to take out your bag that had all the toilettes and headed to the communal showers.

You took your time shampooing, washing, leaving the conditioner for more than 5 minutes, just looking into the void, lost in thought. Why hasn't anything happened to me? Mikasa is fairly famous for her routines and she has Eren. Annie has a plan to take over her dad's physiotherapy company once she gets some experience... and I'm still in limbo, almost as if choosing psychology was another shot at being in High School, I could still choose later which branch I would go after. Even Marco, who's with me, knows he wants community work, and Historia will mostly join sports psychology just to be near Ymir.

"Some of us are waiting to take a shower, eh." Someone shouted from outside the room, shit, how long did I spend contemplating my life? You rinsed the conditioner quickly, and left the room, almost running for the lockers, still pretty damp.

Once in the locker room, you dressed as your stomach started to growl, though you would love it, there is no one who could accompany you to eat breakfast, everyone's –your friends– morning schedule was opposite of yours, except for Marco, of course, he got into most of the same classes with you.

You headed towards the gym dining hall, it was a pretty restaurant with a lot of tables and a microwave nearby, it had a little balcony with a view and access to the soccer and running fields. Most of the people eating there were the same as you, just waiting until their classes started, freshly out of their showers. "I'll have the turkey panini" as you paid, a familiar figure ran through the glass doors that led to the balcony. Ymir was late.

She's kinda intimidating, and she doesn't talk a lot at parties, she's usually just with Historia talking or kissing. You have been introduced, but never actually spoke.

You finished your lunch just as Marco called.

"Historia and I just got out, where are you?"

"Just outside the gym, I'll go over where you guys are." You've only met Historia and Marco for three years, but Marco was considered your best friend, talking to him was always so easy, you could talk about who is annoying you that week, which anime is trending, or get completely shit-faced on a Wednesday afternoon promising a lifelong friendship. He gave such wholesome advice, he genuinely was devoted as a friend.

"We are just gonna get some drinks before our next class, in the little coffee stand by the main entrance."

"Be right there." It's gonna take me a good five minutes of walking, but given the hour, they are gonna take as long waiting in line.

You had just arrived and greeted them both when Historia left the queue.

"I'll catch you later." Historia grabbed her phone as multiple notifications came through. It probably was Ymir with an opening on her schedule, maybe she didn’t make it in time to practice and the coach kicked her out. It wouldn’t be the first time. You only had 15 minutes or so before your next class, but she was willing to cross the whole campus and back if it meant she saw Ymir for a while.

"It probably is Ymir." Marco nudge you with a smirk on his face, so in sync.

You were just about to retaliate with some funny joke when a figure captivated your interest.

He was outstandingly tall and nabbed your attention completely the moment he entered your peripheral view, your head followed his way in automatic, not even listening to whatever Marco was saying.

His presence was hypnotic, the smell of his cologne was tingling in the air, it bewitched you, following it indiscreetly.

It was earthy like sandalwood and intense like lavender. It took you just long enough to react, enjoying the sensation it gave by inhaling deeply with your eyes closed, by the time you opened them up to catch him, he was long gone from the coffee stand, so you could only catch him from the back, seeing that perfectly combed blonde hair and a blue tailored suit, his jacket resting over his brown suitcase that matched his shoes, leaving on his chest only a white shirt revealing buff looking arms, and the slight beginning of a tattoo in his rolled up arm, or so you could tell without your glasses.

He had such ease in his walk, kind of unconcerned and confident in each step, it felt like watching everything in slow motion.

Wow.

It was reassuring and intimidating at the same time. The suit, the stance, his hair, the tattoo peeking...

"Hey, wasn't that Erwin Smith?" Marco said beside you, following your piercing gaze.

The name was familiar, you looked back at Marco, his eyes were sparkling with anticipation, his smile was hiding a bit of malicious intent, just dropping off the name, until it hit you.

Yeah... Erwin Smith.

Navigation / Back / Ch 2

#erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #erwin smith #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #aot #snk #snk erwin #aot erwin #fem reader #reader insert #afab reader #college au #f!reader #smut #is a projection of my own experiences and fantasies #a lot of fucked shit happens so beware

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letitrainathousandflames · 2 years

Note

What's your AO3?

same name as here - letitrainathousandflames

#beware there be so much smut there lmao

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theragethatisdesire · 10 months

Text

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.”

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