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theragethatisdesire · 10 months

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much ado about nothing chapter 5 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

i have successfully kicked my writer's block to the curb and am ready to pick back up on plug!eren!!!! woohoo!! this is the part of the story where it gets really plot heavy and there's a lot of moving parts, so it's been a fun exercise to write and brainstorm. if anything is confusing or u have any theories/questions PLEASE hit my inbox i'm so down bad for plug eren i could talk about him for days.

get ready to meet a new character who is......not the best lol. this is also the first chapter written in eren's pov :o things are about to get interesting!

still haven't caught up? series masterlist HERE <3

specific cws: mentions of smut but nothing outright, alcohol use, swearing, u know the drill

“If music be the food of love, play on. / Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, / The appetite may sicken and so die.” - Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare (Act I, Scene 1)

Eren is, admittedly, a romantic person, especially given his occupation. Not romantic in the cheesy, buying-flowers and kissing-in-the-rain sense, but he appreciates the little details of life. He loves autumn, when the leaves catch on fire with the changing of the season. He loves the little crook of a woman’s neck, that slope where it goes from tendon to shoulder to collarbone. He can appreciate a good bourbon; after years of raiding his dad’s stash, he developed a palate for it early on. Eren’s romantic nature leads him to believe in signs. When the universe tells him something, he listens.

The text still sat in his inbox unopened, marinating in its own bizarre, heartbreaking nature.

> heyyyy lover boy! i’m back from austria! missed u, let’s catch up ;)

Eren knows that Breeze knows him, knows him well enough to understand that his three-week radio silence isn’t a no, it’s a maybe. He hates himself for not immediately texting her back and telling her to fuck off, but after his conversation with you, he thinks it might be the universe telling him it’s safe this time, that he won’t end up a shell of himself. Maybe.

You had been firm in your assertion that you and Eren were better off as friends, and as much as he wanted to fight it, Eren respects women. As much as he can when he’s prone to wrenching their jaws open and spitting in their mouths while he’s balls deep inside them, at least. He’s disappointed, but he respects it, and if he’s honest, he likes you.

He likes your sharp humor, likes the way you tend to keep your hair up off of your neck, likes the way your eyes light up when someone gives you an excuse to talk about your studies. He hasn’t been “just friends” with a woman in a long time, but it’s refreshing, an excuse to go grab a coffee and shoot the shit like a normal person instead of lurking in the corner of a frat party handing out pills like a perverse ice cream truck.

The last three weeks of “friends” have been the best Eren’s had in a long time. You’re easy, that’s what he likes about you. He can drop the cold mask he wears so often, giggle over a stupid meme, listen intently as you prattle on about some long-dead 18th-century author that was “so ahead of her time!”, smirk when you chastise him for doodling little hearts and flowers all over your coursework.

Sure, he still steals a glance down your shirt when he can, and he’d never admit it, but he thinks about you late at night. He thinks about you when he’s in the shower, when he’s got himself in his hand, panting and swearing under his breath, but he manages to feel enough guilt over it to still consider you a friend. You’re caring and considerate and easy, wholesome fun, unlike someone that’s made a sudden reappearance into his life.

After that first night, just when he was starting to entertain the thought of promoting you from one night stand to official fuck buddy, the closest thing to commitment Eren allows himself to maintain these days, Breeze swept back into his life, and you hit the brakes on him. While it may not have been the sign he wanted to receive, Eren’s a romantic, and he listens to the universe, especially when it goes so far out of its way to tell him something.

He’s decided to let Breeze stew for a little while longer. Campus will be clearing out for Thanksgiving break soon, along with most of his business, and he’s going to wait until his hands are empty of work and you before answering her. Plus, she had flitted off to Europe after college like their entire relationship had been nothing more than a passing phase; Eren’s owed at least a little bit of pettiness, right?

> paradise ath 1130! see uthere ;)

Eren snorts at your text. Being as uptight as you are about grammar (you’re constantly hounding him about his texting style, and he’s been making them even more incorrect just to hear you berate him), he knows you’re not just texting quickly, you’re drunk.

“Yo, ‘min!” Eren calls into the kitchen, an excited flutter already rising in his chest beneath his hoodie.

“Yeah?” Armin’s head pops around the doorframe, a dab of ketchup on the corner of his mouth.

“Wanna go to Paradise later?”

“The club?” Armin’s nose wrinkles. Connie’s head appears right beside Armin, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Connie answers for both of them before Armin has the chance to shoot the idea down, “who’s going?”

“Like you don’t know the answer to that,” Armin scoffs, ducking back into the kitchen with a roll of his eyes.

“I never took her for a ‘club’ type of girl,” Connie adds air-quotes to emphasize his confusion.

Eren mulls that over for a moment; he doesn’t really take you for a club type of girl either, but from the sound of it, Historia and Sasha have already done the job of getting you good and drunk and talking you into a night on the town. Eren’s always wanted to see what you’re like when you’re well and truly fucked up; every time you indulge him with a story from college, he ends up laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach and gasping for breath.

Supposedly, when you go all out, you drop the mom-friend act and become a little less tame; is this Eren’s opportunity to get an eyeful for himself? He’s not waiting around to find out.

Eren shrugs. “Come help me make these runs and we’ll go. Armin, you’re driving.”

The drop-offs are uneventful, and as soon as Eren steps foot inside the club, his nose scrunches with distaste. Ironically, he’s never been into the partying scene, much preferring a quiet beer at Scout’s or a blunt on the couch to a club. The music’s horribly loud, bass thudding through the fabric of his hoodie and beating against his chest, and as he looks for you, he can barely see through the mass of bodies and the fog machines. You’re here? It’s difficult for Eren to imagine you, in your favorite flannel and those cute little Vans he likes, tucked against the bar throwing back your signature craft beer. As Connie urges him and Armin in the direction of the bar, calling for green tea shots, Eren nearly regrets his decision, until fingernails dig into his shoulder, spinning him on his heels.

“Hey, you.”

Eren blinks stupidly as you grin up at him through thick, black lashes. He’s never even dared to imagine you like you are now, piercing eyes gazing up at him through a heavy dusting of makeup and the shortest, tightest dress Eren’s ever seen hugging every inch of your curves. You look sinful in a way he’s never seen you before, not even when he was holding you tight to him and wrenching out orgasm after orgasm from your body. He gulps.

“Holy shit– hey,” he lets you pull him in for an overexcited hug, bites down on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the bulge already swelling in his pants.

“I missed you!” You pinch his cheeks, much to Eren’s dismay.

“Just saw you yesterday– quit pinchin’ me. What are you even doing here? Didn’t think this was your scene.” Eren has to actively keep his eyes trained on your face; there’s a little bead of sweat traveling down the expanse of skin between your breasts that’s making his mouth water. Friends, he scoffs in his mind. Are you trying to kill him?

“Well, it’s not, but Sasha says I need to be more fun, and Stor says I need to find a boyfriend.” You gesture around like it’s obvious. Eren cocks an eyebrow, ignoring the inappropriate envy that twists in his stomach at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’.

Boyfriends never like the guy friends, it’s practically a law of nature. If you’re dating around, it’s only a matter of time before some square in a button-down steals you away from your coffee dates and movie nights with Eren, but he can’t get too caught up in that now, not when you’re looking up at him all dizzy and sexy and bursting at the seams.

“Don’t know if this is the place for that.”

“That’s what I said!” Oh, you’re drunk drunk, all of your movements overexaggerated and shaky. It makes him want to laugh seeing you like this; his little book nerd, trashed and mere inches away from having her ass out at a club. Well, either laugh or drag you into the bathroom to bend you over the sink. He can’t be sure.

“Hey mama!” Connie shouts over at you, handing you a shot. Eren has half a mind to snatch it out of his hand after catching the slurring in your voice, but he’s too late; you throw it back without so much as a shudder, grinning all wide and wet and pretty when you swallow.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you tell him, pulling him down by his collar so you can speak into his ear. Eren has to bite back a groan at the feel of your hot lips against his ear. Friends, he reminds himself urgently, pushing you back from him but keeping his hands firm on your hips, relishing in the way your flesh gives under his grip.

“You know the rules. You call, I come.”

“That’s what she said,” you snicker, pinching his cheek again.

“Cut that out!”

“Make me.” Oh fuck, Eren’s going to die. He’s going to die if you keep looking at him like that, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and fuck-me eyes on him.

“You’re not being very friendly,” he manages to choke out, trying his hardest to give you a suspicious look through the dizzying wave of images that flash through his brain. You with your mouth full of him. You spread out on his bed, back arched and fingers twisted in his hair. The little “o” your mouth made when you rode him for the first time. Eren wants to smack himself, jump in a cold shower, something. Get a grip, dude.

“Maybe not,” you shrug, eyes darting over to the bar. “Hurry up and grab a drink, I wanna dance.”

“Not much of a dancer,” Eren admits, taking the beer that Connie hands him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work.”

Eren isn’t sure if he likes or loves the sound of that, powerless against that stupid little dress you’ve got on as you drag him behind you to the mass of bodies he had so disdainfully eyed on his way in. He’s greeted by a loud round of shrieking, one more pinch to the cheek by Historia and a slap on the ass from Sasha. You make a show of teasing him for how pink his face gets, but luckily, your friends are instantly distracted by Armin and Connie’s arrival right behind him. You pull him back down, glossy lips pressed right against his ear.

“I really like this song.” You’re barely audible over the pounding music, but even if Eren hadn’t heard what you said, he’d get the gist from the way you grind against his thigh, slow and sensual. Maybe you are actually trying to kill him.

“Yeah?” He’s breathless, irreparably and embarrassingly caught in the little web you’ve woven.

“Yeah.” You’re moving harder against him now, throwing your arms around his neck and grinding your hips into his. Eren’s only thought is to let his hands fly back to your hips, let you use him like a stripper pole to show off.

He can feel eyes on him, not the eyes of friends, but of other men around him, wondering who the lucky asshole is that’s getting the royal treatment from a girl as hot as you. If he were to be truthful, it’s getting him off, how every eye is on you and, by proxy, him, holding you like a lifeline as you let the beat rock through your body.

So this, this is the party girl you claim to have living deep inside you. This seductive, electric creature moving tantalizing against his body, this is the source of the stories Historia tells him that make you blush? How you could ever be embarrassed of this is beyond him; you’re like a little devil, sent straight from hell just to torture him, and Eren’s mouth is watering.

Song after song goes by, and you don’t let up, don’t let him catch his breath for a moment, moving from facing him to pressing your ass into his crotch and then back again, arms above your head or wrapped around his neck. Eren wishes he was mentally sound enough at the moment to feel ashamed that you can absolutely feel how hard he is through his pants right now, but he’s drunk on you, letting you press into him so insistently he has to tug your dress down for you, letting you drive him so crazy that he’s grateful for the loud music now. He’d die if Connie or Armin could hear the way he’s grunting and groaning low under his breath, powerless underneath you.

Suddenly, as if you haven’t just been riling him up for the last half hour, you back away enough to face him, shaking your empty cup and him and mouthing something that Eren’s still too dizzy to make out.

“Huh?”

“Get me another drink!” you shout over the bass, laughing at him.

Eren nods stupidly, darting away from you before he can grab your jaw, pull your lips to his like he so desperately wants to. Finally out of the throng of bodies, he can feel his head clearing, some semblance of sanity crashing over him. What the fuck has gotten into him? It was just one night, and you’ve kept him at arm’s length ever since, only seeing each other under the guise of coffee, or a beer, or Eren insisting you need to continue your education in the wonders of horror films. You’re drunk, that’s the only explanation; drunk and teasing him like you aren’t going to wake up and throw him right back into the friendzone. He rests both elbows on the bar, shaking his head like he’ll be able to knock some sense into himself if he rattles his brain around a little.

Eren orders your vodka soda and a beer and a shot for himself, something to clear his head and keep his blood pressure manageable. Hopefully, at least.

When he turns around, drinks in hand, that plan flies out the door. There you are, center of the dance floor, hands above your head and hips moving like you’re intentionally trying to make him lose his fucking mind. He tilts his head in interest when a man approaches you, grazes his hands over your hips like he means to start grinding against you. Eren can feel his own hands tightening around the bottle and the plastic cup in his hand, but he holds himself back; he’s got no claim on you, and if you’re willing to entertain the man (who, if you ask Eren, is way below your standards), who is Eren to stop you?

You surprise him in the best way: when the man touches you lightly, you whip around, brows furrowed and a little glitter in your eyes so mean that even Eren nearly flinches. He can’t read your lips in the low light, but he snorts to himself anyway as the man puts his hands up and backs away from you, eyes wide. As if nothing had happened, you spin back on your heel, facing a cackling Sasha with a shrug.

Eren feels a wide, proud smile blooming on his face. As much as he feels an unwarranted protectiveness towards you, he likes watching you get your teeth out and stand up for yourself. Before he can make his way back over to tease you, a voice from his left makes his blood run cold.

“Rennie?!”

Two thin arms are tossed around his neck before Eren can even respond, the familiar scent of vanilla and coconut enveloping him.

“Breeze?” Eren chokes out, too shocked to keep his composure. She pulls away from him and grins, a little diamond glittering from her right canine tooth.

“You didn’t text me back, you tease,” she swats at his chest, snags the vodka soda he’d bought for you right out of his hand, taking a sip. Eren takes the opportunity to swallow hard around the lump in his throat, one last tentative glance towards you before he turns his gaze back to Breeze.

She’s cut her hair, something short and choppy that swings around her ears, and fuck, she’s still just as pretty as he remembers, little freckles on her button nose visible in the darkness of the club.

“Didn’t think you wanted to see me,” Eren shrugs, forcing his face to remain schooled into one of cold apathy. She had left him, like he was nothing to her. He hates her, he realizes, god, he hates her so much it burns in his veins. Breeze cocks her head, frowning.

“Why would you think that?”

“You fucking left me, Breeze, don’t be stupid,” Eren makes a move to steal the drink back from her, but she holds it close enough to her chest that he’d have to practically grope her to take it, and his fingers recoil at the realization.

“Are you double-fisting, or did you buy this for someone special?” She teases, brushing right over Eren’s bristly demeanor. When he doesn’t answer, she raises her eyebrows. “It’s for someone. Well, point her out! Is she cute?”

Breeze turns on her heel, standing on her tiptoes to glance through the crowd. Before he can stop himself, Eren’s grabbing her upper arm, spinning her back to face him with anger blazing in his eyes. When he meets her gaze, her baby blues are alight with mischief, and he knows that no matter which direction he moves, he’s losing whatever little game she has him trapped in. That was the thing about Breeze; Eren was always losing her games.

“Fuck, just…just stop it, Breeze. What are you even doing here?”

“I’m back in town, didn’t you see my text?” Breeze shrugs innocently, sipping your drink.

“Okay, well, welcome back,” Eren deadpans, leaving her question hanging in the air between them. He turns back to the bar to order another cocktail for you, having given up hope of getting the first one back from Breeze, but she’s relentless, has always been that way. She slides up to the bar beside him, smiling demurely up at him.

“I missed you, you know.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” Eren scoffs, rolling his eyes. Breeze flinches, but Eren knows her better than that. It’s all an act, it always is.

“I never realized how much I hurt you,” her fingers grazing over his cheek nearly burn with how cold they are in contrast to the heavy, thick air around them, “‘m sorry, Rennie.”

“It’s fine.” Eren hates the way he twitches and nearly leans into her touch when she swipes her fingers over him. How many times has he thought about this, seeing her again after all these years? Everything he’s planned out, everything he’s ever wanted to say is lodged in his throat, a jumble of letters and words so squished out of order that they no longer hold meaning. He doesn’t love her, not anymore, but his body reacts before his brain can stop it, a conditioned response.

“Can we talk about it soon? Maybe over coffee?” Blue eyes blinking up at him earnestly.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Breeze,” Eren rolls his eyes, swallowing thick around the knot in his throat.

“There is,” she insists, “I brought this amazing espresso blend back with me from Florence, and–”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone for tonight?” Eren can feel the exasperation in his tone, can feel the weight of his mistake weighing on his shoulders. It’s fine, he tells himself, he’ll make up some excuse and get out of it. A long conversation with Breeze about their breakup is the last thing he needs.

“Maybe,” Breeze tucks her lip in between her teeth, a little smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “unless you change your mind.”

“We can talk or whatever another time, but I’m going back to my friends, okay? Go find yours.”

“You’re my friend,” Breeze purrs, one hand stroking over Eren’s bicep, “and I haven’ seen you int–”

“Don’t push it,” Eren nearly growls, scowling down at her. He knows half of the hatred buzzing through his veins is reserved for himself, but he’ll unpack that at home with a blunt, not in the middle of the club with you waiting for him on the dance floor and Breeze staring up at him hungrily.

“Always wound so tight,” Breeze hums, reaching a hand up to squish his cheeks, “but fine. I’ll see you soon.”

She miraculously leaves him there with nothing but a wink, taking your vodka soda with her; Eren’s shoulders slump in relief. Knowing Breeze, it was a wonder she hadn’t tackled him right there. When he turns around for the second time, two drinks in hand, you’re already staring at him. Shit.

You don’t look mad– and why would you be? You’re friends, Eren reminds himself. There’s no reason for you to know who Breeze is; he’s never told you about her, and he never planned on doing so. Eren knows Historia, though, well enough to believe that she told you everything from the godforsaken moment he walked into your apartment that day.

He doesn’t like that look you’ve got, though; again, not mad, but he can see the gears turning behind your eyes. Eren has to practically force himself to walk towards you. Your head’s cocked in confusion, something watery and hesitant glimmering in your eyes through the low lighting. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you almost look hurt, but that wouldn’t be fair, would it? You didn’t want him, you had made that abundantly clear.

“Sorry it took me a while. Long line.” Eren hands you your drink, nearly wincing at how naturally the clearly false statement rolls off his tongue.

“Mhm,” you nod, downing nearly half of your drink in one long slurp. Your movements aren’t fluid and dynamic anymore; you’re stiff as a board, bouncing back and forth on the balls of your feet along to the beat of the song. “I…I actually have to pee, do you mind holding this?”

“Now?” Eren blinks, confused. “I just got your drink.”

You offer him a tight smile. “I wanted to wait ‘til you were back, so you could watch my drink. And so you didn’t think I ran off on you or something.”

“Oh, yeah, go ahead.”

He watches you slink away into the crowd, watches the dozens of eyes follow you, surely wondering what happened to the little firecracker in the middle of the dance floor. Eren knows you get like this sometimes, suddenly pensive and nostalgic, knows that per your own admission, you like to handle it yourself. He hadn’t done this to you, had he?

A firm pinch to his cheek distracts him, pulls him down a foot below his normal standing height. Could everyone just stop pinching his fucking face? “Shit, ow!”

“Was that Breeze?” Historia yells directly into his ear. Eren, six-foot-something of hell on wheels, blushes furiously.

“Dude, was that fucking Breeze, or am I too fucked up?” Connie echoes Historia’s sentiment from over her shoulder, eyes comically wide. Armin’s peering around him, eyes flitting back and forth between Eren, Connie, and Historia as he tries to understand what’s happened.

“Who cares?” Eren snaps at Connie. Historia’s grip on his face loosens, releases entirely. If Eren didn’t like the look that you had given him, he hates the look Historia’s shooting at him right now. All daggers and disappointment. She turns on her heel without another word, making a beeline for the bathroom and dragging Sasha along behind her. Eren doesn’t miss Armin’s eyes either; stripping him to the bone without saying a word.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Eren scoffs, waves a hand in Armin’s direction.

“When did Breeze get back into town?” Armin shouts over the music.

“A few weeks ago,” Eren admits, avoiding Armin’s eyes and looking for a spot at the bar where he can escape the heavy gazes of his friends, run away to drown this conversation in a shot of whiskey.

“Did you–”

“I don’t know, man, you know how she is. She just showed up.” Eren knows he’s being unnecessarily gruff, but in his defense, the last hour or so has been a whirlwind of memory and emotion and lust that he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

Armin nods simply, takes a sip of his beer. Eren’s known Armin since they were kids, and he knows Armin can read him like a book. If he had a little less pride, Eren would pull Armin to the side and ask if he can make any sense of what’s going through Eren’s head right now because Eren sure as hell can’t. There’s you, with your skimpy dress and your flirty eyes, grinding on him like you’re going to take him home and fuck him stupid again, like you hadn’t demanded an honest-to-god friendship that Eren happens to very much enjoy. On the other hand, there’s Breeze, flighty and just as much of a ghost as she is a real person, popping back into his life and batting her blue eyes at him like she’d never left.

You’re his friend, and Breeze is his terrible ex. There shouldn’t be a choice here– there isn’t, it’s just the way things are, but Eren feels stuck at a crossroads for some reason.

He finally gets fed up with the music and the bumping of bodies around him and storms off to the bar again, biting back the urge to snap at Connie and Armin who he knows are hot on his heels. Eren’s just looked up from the shot of whiskey burning its way down his throat, acknowledging the dizziness that’s come with his drinks for the night, when he spots you.

You don’t look angry, that’s a small mercy you unwittingly grant him, but you’re cowering. Historia, even being shorter than you, is practically pinning you to the wall outside of the bathroom, shouting at you with her finger in your face. Sasha doesn’t look all too pleased either, arms crossed and a deep scowl written into her features. Eren gets a glimpse of your phone in Historia’s other hand that she’s waving around erratically, and wonders what the hell happens in women’s bathrooms. He’s not exactly sure what prompts it, but he checks his own phone. Nothing.

“Are they fighting?” Connie asks, nose scrunched as he peeks around Eren’s arm.

“Looks like it,” Armin nods, wincing as you try to make a grab for your phone from Historia, resulting in Sasha saving you at the last second from face-planting as Historia holds it out of your reach.

“Should we, like, do something?”

“Absolutely not,” Armin and Eren echo each other, looking at Connie as if he’d just suggested they all walk into oncoming traffic.

Eren watches as Historia grabs you by the wrist and drags you out of the bar, your feeble protests doing nothing to stop her insistent steps. Sasha follows both of you, gently pushing you along by the small of your back and shooting a regretful glance at Connie, mouthing a sorry as you all make your exit. It’s hardly been five minutes before Eren’s phone buzzes.

> had to leave. do you mind paying our tab if i venmo you? it’s under reiss.

Eren bites the inside of his cheek again, not worrying in the slightest about covering the tab, but more so the reason for your abrupt exit.

> yeah i got u everything ok?

> thanks a ton! see u next time.

It’s purposefully avoidant, especially coming from Historia, who never misses a chance to make fun of you good-naturedly. If you had been sick in the bathroom or far too drunk to stay, she would have come out and said it. Eren throws his card down, going to pay the hefty tab you and your friends racked up, but not daring to pay his own. After all of the shit that’s just gone down, he owes himself at least one more drink.

Once he’s signed, he pulls out his phone again, thumb hovering over your text thread, then Breeze’s, then yours again. Mindful of Armin’s prying eye over his shoulder, Eren sighs heftily and shuts his phone off, leaning in to order another shot. The following morning’s approaching quickly, whether he wants it to or not, and he’ll save his fucked-up emotions for the daylight.

#enjoyyyyy #sorry about no smut again but like #we have to get through some PLOT okay #also don't drink and text/call is the lesson from this chapter #trust me it'll make sense #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger series #aot x reader #eren jaeger fanfic #much ado about nothing #much ado universe

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