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justabigassnerd · 1 year

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Pairing - Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x sister!reader

Word count - 3,330

Warnings - inaccurate court scenes, angst, mentions of death, abandonment, fluff

Summary - Maverick ends up fighting his mother for custody of his baby sister after her sudden reappearance

A/N - wow it's been a hot minute hasn't it?? I'm so sorry for the delay I'm fighting for my life out here but I'm almost done with my dissertation which is super exciting! this was an anon request so I hope I did the idea justice and I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to it. as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

When Pete Mitchell turned eighteen, his mum gave birth to a little girl who very quickly became his favourite person in the world. Not even half a year had passed before his dad died, leaving the family in ruins.

Not long after Pete sent in his application to the naval academy along with his best friend, his mum took off, leaving his little sister in his care. He was petrified at having to look after a child but because it was you, he took it in his stride. He got official custody of you and raised you with love and affection and Goose was more than happy to help his best friend along the way.

When you turned four, Maverick and Goose were given spots at Top Gun, and so both men packed up their belongings and moved to San Diego. You were left in the care of Carole who graciously took charge of both you and her son while Maverick and Goose were training at Top Gun.

When it reached the last leg of training at Top Gun, families were permitted to fly out to see their loved ones, so Carole packed a bag with her stuff, yours, and Bradley’s and flew on the first plane out to San Diego to see Maverick and Goose. When you disembarked the plane, you spotted your big brother and immediately barrelled towards him, giggling when he scooped you up in his arms and pressed a kiss on your temple.

“Was the flight okay, kiddo?” Maverick asks with a grin as you cuddle close to your brother, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder.

“Yeah.” You reply, nodding against his shirt as you speak. It was clear that you were tired from the journey so Maverick exchanged one look with Goose, and both men instantly knew that tomorrow could be the day they go to the beach.

“Alright, y/n/n. Let’s grab something to eat and then we’ll get you settled at my place. I think that sounds like a plan. Do you?” He asks, receiving a nod in response to his question. The group of five make their way to a small diner and get something to eat. Maverick and Goose fill Carole in on what training at Top Gun had been like while you and Bradley were happy to entertain yourself by colouring on the colouring page the waitresses gave you. When you finished your food and Maverick and Goose had split the bill, you all left the diner with you holding your brother’s hand and giggling as he twirled you effortlessly. When Maverick looked up from where you were walking alongside him to check where he was going, he locked eyes with someone he didn’t think he’d ever see again.

“Hey y/n/n, why don’t you hang out with Goose for a minute. I have something I need to do really quick.” Maverick asks, glancing from you to Goose who instantly picked up on his best friend’s tense frame and nervous expression and crouched down to be at your height.

“I think I saw an ice cream place nearby when I was walking around the other day. I think we should get some ice cream, don’t you?” Goose says with a smile. The idea of ice cream has you instantly leaping into Goose’s arms as he scoops you up and sits you on his hip.

“Ice cream!” You cheer, clapping your hands happily.

“I want ice cream too, dad!” Bradley clamours, tugging on his dad’s Hawaiian shirt.

“We’ll get you some ice cream too my sweet boy. Just remember to say please, okay?” Carole says, stroking her son’s hair away from his face before taking his hand in hers to begin the walk to the ice cream shop.

“Bye, Pete!” You wave over Goose’s shoulder to Maverick who waves back, making sure to blow you a quick kiss as well. The moment you were out of his line of sight he turned to face Shannon Mitchell, the woman who abandoned her children.

“Pete, it’s so good to see you.” His mother gushes, instantly reaching out to cup his face but faltering when Maverick takes a step back, keeping the distance between them.

“What do you want?” He questions, grateful his aviators are hiding the daggers he is shooting towards the woman standing in front of him.

“A mother can’t come and see her own kids? Especially when her son got into Top Gun. That’s a big deal, Pete we should be celebrating as a family!” She tries, this time reaching for Maverick’s hand, and he snatches his hand away from her like she’d burn him if she made contact with him before folding his arms across his chest.

“I’ve already celebrated with my family, thanks.” Maverick says, thinking back to the dinner Carole had made to celebrate the pilot and RIO duo gaining a spot in Top Gun and how the five of you had sat around the dinner table eating the delicious meal.

“They’re not a proper family. I’m talking about me, you, and little y/n. Where’d that man take her to? I want to see my little girl.” Shannon argues, making Maverick grit his teeth at her words.

“Goose and Carole have been more than a family to me and y/n than you ever have. So leave us alone.” Maverick spits angrily before turning on his heels and leaving Shannon stunned and silent. As he walked away, Maverick assumed that was the last he’d see of her and that his warning was enough of a deterrent.

However, not even a week later, Maverick opened the door to his quarters as you sat colouring in your colouring book to see a man in a sharp suit on the other side of his door.

“Pete Mitchell? You’ve been served. Your mother wants to regain custody over your sister, y/n Mitchell.” The man said, holding out an envelope towards Maverick who takes it hesitantly, holding the envelope loosely in his hand as the man explains a few more things before bidding Maverick goodbye. Maverick closes the front door and rips the envelope open, eyes skimming the piece of paper in hand before he lets out a sigh.

“Pete?” Your small voice shakes Maverick out of his thoughts as he moves the paper from his eye line to see you standing in front of him with a worried expression as you clutched your soft toy in your hand. Maverick quickly folded the paper up and put it on the counter behind him so you wouldn’t see it.

“What’s that?” You question innocently, pointing at where Maverick had just put the piece of paper.

“It’s just grown-up stuff, squirt. Really boring if you ask me.” Maverick replies as he crouches down to be at your height, plastering a fake smile on his face for your sake. Instead of responding vocally, you wrap your arms around Maverick’s neck and nuzzle close to him as he reciprocates the hug, straightening up to stand at his full height before he carried you back to the sofa so you could have the cuddles you clearly wanted from your big brother.

When it came time for the court date, Maverick had recruited Goose and Carole to help him maintain custody. His lawyer had told him that he was probably in for a tough case because even though Shannon had left you in Maverick’s care, she was still your birth mother and while Maverick technically had custody, Shannon could make a strong sympathy case.

Maverick’s knee was bouncing anxiously as everyone filed into the courtroom for the trial. You were sat with Carole and Goose who reassured you that you’d be able to see Maverick again soon, you just needed to get through the boring stuff first. When the judge began the proceedings, Maverick could only hope and pray that the judge and the jury would see that you were better with him. Goose and Carole took the stand one at a time, both of them saying that Maverick was the best guardian for you. They explained that while they had been a support system for Maverick, he had been doing a great job raising you on his own and you were happy and loved.

Shannon took to the stand and tore Maverick’s whole case apart in mere seconds.

“He travels all the time for work. He could be killed and then there’d be no one to look after my sweet girl.” Shannon says, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as she speaks. At her words, the jury exchange a look and Maverick feels his chances of keeping you slipping away. After listening to all the testimonies and reviewing the evidence, the judge calls a recess so they, along with the jury can come up with a verdict. Maverick looked over his shoulder to see you sat on Goose’s lap, waving at your brother once you made eye contact with him. Maverick waved back at you with a soft smile, hoping that when the judge walked back in, he’d get the verdict he wanted.

When the judge and jury return, Maverick watches them carefully. He watches as they take their seats, and the judge clears his throat before surveying the gathered people.

“After carefully reviewing the details of this case we have come to a conclusion. We have determined that y/n Mitchell would be much better suited to live with her mother Shannon Mitchell. Bailiff, if you could please bring y/n forward.” The judge says, and Maverick feels his world fall apart around him. He looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with Goose who was wearing a horrified expression as the bailiff took you away from him. Carole’s eyes had filled to the brim with tears as she watched you get handed over to your mother, who grabbed you by the wrist and gently guided you to follow her as the judge dismissed everyone after stating that Shannon would be permitted to pick up your stuff from Maverick’s the next day.

“I wanna go with Pete.” You whine, tugging against your mother's hold and glancing over at Maverick who could do nothing more than watch with teary eyes as you were dragged away from him as you cried and shouted for your big brother to come and save you from her. The second the doors closed behind you and Shannon, Goose and Carole came rushing over to Maverick, neither one daring to ask if he was okay.

“Hey Mav, let’s head back to ours. You can spend a few nights there.” Goose says softly, wrapping an arm around his best friend’s shoulders and escorting him out to Goose’s Bronco. When Goose got in the driver’s seat, Carole took over taking care of Maverick, sitting in the backseat with him, holding his hand gently and watching him carefully to see if he’d crumble. Maverick remained deadly silent the whole way back to Goose’s quarters, not responding to anything Goose or Carole said to him. When the three arrived at Goose’s quarters, Goose paid the babysitter as he entered the house while Carole guided Maverick into the living room, easing him down on the sofa and making sure he was comfortable.

“I’m going to get you some tea, okay, sweetie?” Carole says gently, before heading into the kitchen to make some tea for Maverick. As she leaves, Goose enters with Bradley hot on his heels.

“Uncle Mav!” Bradley shouts happily, scrambling to sit on Maverick’s lap, dodging Goose trying to stop him from doing so. Bradley settles himself on Maverick’s lap, curling into him as he looks up at his godfather with all the love and adoration in the world.

“Hey, kiddo.” Maverick forces himself to say, trying not to let his voice break.

“Where’s y/n?” Bradley enquires, looking from Maverick to Goose who exchange a nervous look with each other.

“Hey buddy, we’ll see y/n soon. She’s just gone away for a little bit.” Goose lies, kneeling down by the sofa to look Bradley in the eye. He felt awful for lying to his son about how long you’d be gone, but he didn’t want to break Bradley’s heart, not yet. Bradley’s face shifted as he thought about what he could do.

“Could I make her a card?” He asks, making Goose smile softly before he looked up at Maverick.

“I’m sure she’d love that, Bradley.” Maverick said, finding his voice and ruffling Bradley’s hair lightly. Maverick’s words had Bradley instantly scrambling off Maverick’s lap so he could dart off in search of paper and pens so he could make you a card. As Bradley left, Carole re-emerged from the kitchen with a tray with three mugs of hot tea. She places the tray down on the coffee table and hands a mug to Maverick who offers a weak smile in response before taking a sip of the warm drink. Carole and Goose move to sit alongside Maverick as Bradley came barrelling into the room with paper and pens in his arms before he dropped everything on the coffee table, being mindful of the mugs of tea. He asks Carole to fold the paper into a card, waiting patiently for her to do so before he begins to draw on the front cover, humming happily to himself as he doodles. When he’s finished drawing on the front of the card, he turns around to the adults.

“Daddy, can you help me write in the card?” Bradley asks, holding a pen out to Goose who nods lightly before easing himself to sit on the floor alongside Bradley.

“Alright buddy, what do we want to write?” Goose asks, guiding Bradley as he writes in the card, helping him spell certain words and helping him sign his name at the end.

Maverick makes it through the rest of the afternoon without breaking down. He struggled with keeping himself upbeat enough for Bradley’s sake, but he held it together somehow. However, once Bradley was in bed, Maverick broke down. Goose and Carole came downstairs to find Maverick sobbing with his head in his hands. The couple immediately trapped Maverick in a hug, both of them exchanging sad looks with each other as they comfort Maverick.

“I can’t believe I lost her.” Maverick manages to say through his sobs, lifting his head to reveal his bloodshot eyes as he glances at his best friend.

“Maybe if we talk to your mum, she’ll let you visit sometime.” Goose says softly as Carole rubs Maverick’s shoulder comfortingly. Maverick wanted to believe Goose’s words, but he knew that after the battle they had in court would lead his mother to not want Maverick within a hundred-mile radius of you. Goose and Carole continue to comfort Maverick until his tears slow. Carole then excuses herself to grab Maverick some water while Goose picks up the mugs and carries them into the kitchen behind his wife. Carole fills up a glass while Goose places the mugs in the dishwasher. When the two make their way back into the living room, they find Maverick curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. Exhaustion had clearly taken hold of him after the day he had. Carole placed the glass down on the coffee table while Goose grabbed a blanket and draped it carefully over Maverick. They then whispered a goodnight to him and made their way upstairs.

“I’m worried about him. This is going to mess with him even when he’s up in the air. He can’t fly while he’s like this.” Goose confesses to Carole as the couple climbs into their bed, wrapping his arms around his wife and tugging her close to his chest.

“I’m worried too. Maybe you could speak to your instructor? I know the trophy is important to you two, but I’d like my boys to make it home safe.” Carole agrees, making Goose’s heart soften for a moment. She’d known Maverick for as long as she knew him and for her to consider both of them ‘her boys’ showed how big her love was for not only him but his best friend as well.

“We need to be his support system. He needs us now more than ever.” Goose says as his hand finds its way into Carole’s hair, running through it absentmindedly.

“We will be. Let’s get some sleep. Mav will need us tomorrow.” Carole says as her eyes slip shut and Goose follows suit, sleep claiming the couple.

The next day, Maverick returns to his quarters, waiting anxiously with Goose and Carole for Shannon’s arrival after he showered and changed before they packed up your belongings. It took a mere twenty minutes for her to arrive after they started packing and they were soon loading your belongings into Shannon’s car.

“Is there any way I could visit sometime?” Maverick asks awkwardly, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he talks, glancing over at Shannon.

“I don’t think so. You stole my daughter from me and then you gave me hell in that courtroom.” Shannon fires back, making Maverick shrink from her glare and harsh words. Goose watched the exchange from afar, eyebrows furrowing at seeing Maverick shy away from someone.

“Well, then could you at least give her this card? It’s from Goose’s kid, Bradley. I thought y/n would appreciate a letter from her friend.” Maverick then says, extracting the card from his pocket and holding it out towards his mother who rolls her eyes but takes it anyway, barely promising to give it to you.

Maverick watched Shannon drive away with all your belongings in her car with teary eyes as Goose and Carole comforted him once more. He couldn’t believe that she had denied him any form of visitation. He had only lived one day without you since you were born, and it was already the worst day of his life, and he didn’t know how he could keep going without you.

However, a couple of days later, Maverick received a knock on the door to his quarters. He didn’t want to answer the door, Goose would’ve called through to him if it was him but when the knocking refused to cease, Maverick dragged himself off the sofa and tugged the door open.

“Pete!” You hugged your brothers’ legs as he stared at you in shock before looking up at the smartly dressed woman who offered him a kind smile.

“After what happened in the court, the judge and jury felt they made an incorrect choice in their verdict-”

“You’re telling me.” Maverick interjected, leaning down to scoop you up so he could hug you close.

“As I was saying. The judge and jury reconvened the next day to discuss overturning their verdict. They realised that their verdict was made in error and that while Shannon was y/n’s mother, the two had no relationship and she evidently felt much safer with you than she did with her mother.” The woman explains. Maverick was barely paying her any attention; he was too focused on the fact that you were back with him.

“Well, here’s her belongings. We’ll be in contact shortly to get you custody again.” The woman continues, handing Maverick a suitcase.

“Thank you.” Maverick says sincerely to the woman, nodding lightly before he dragged the suitcase inside and closed the door behind him. The second the door closed he hugged you tight, peppering kisses all over your face as you giggled, pushing his face away.

“Yucky kisses!” You giggle, wiping at your face as Maverick chuckles lightly.

“I’m just so happy you’re home.” Maverick says, carrying you over to the sofa and flopping onto it, keeping you lying on his chest so he can feel your weight so his brain knew you were home.

“Stay with you?” You ask, innocent eyes looking up at Maverick who nods confidently.

“You’re home kiddo. I’m not going to let anyone take you away from me again.”

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ficsforeren · 2 years

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Never Let Me Go - Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Eren Jaeger X Female Reader

Genre: Zombie Apocalypse AU, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Strangers-to-Lovers, Slow Burn, Slight Horror & Action

Series Summary: A lethal virus has killed 90% of the world’s population and turns 9.8% into zombie-like, cannibalistic mutants who are extremely vulnerable to the ultraviolet rays in sunlight. You and Eren Jaeger are both survivors crossing paths in the cruel world, but together, you’re able to find some beauty in it.

Chapter Summary: Body, mind, and soul. You’re connected to Eren in a way you’ve never felt with anyone before. But what comes after that? Is it okay for you to live happily with him after all those sins you’ve committed?

Content Warnings: zombies (loosely based on I Am Legend), graphic descriptions of death and murder, explicit sex (cunnilingus, blow job, fingering, hand job, car sex, abs riding, dry humping, unprotected sex, corruption kink, praise kink, etc), use of weapons (guns, knives), substance abuse (use of drugs and alcohol), traumatic past, anxiety attacks, depression, crude words, dark humor, sexual assault, suicidal thoughts, suicidal attempts.

Poster art by the most talented @rainbuniart (follow her on Twitter)

The air shimmers in the heat of the midday sun. Specks of dust seem to dance in the shaft of afternoon sunlight that slants through the window. Eren blinks open his lids, dazed as he’s greeted by his ceilings. Sitting on his bed with a pair of vacant eyes, he tries to take in his surroundings. It feels like he had the most pleasant dream he’s ever witnessed in his twenty-one years of living. A dream of a beautiful girl resting in his arms, with a fruity scent on her skin and his name on her lips. How many times has he dreamt of you already? Dreamt about sharing stories and adoring smiles? Dreamt about embracing you, exchanging body heat underneath the covers with praises tumbling off his lips?

He’s grown tired of it. Tired of his brain feeding him with a string of imaginations that’s far from reality. He wants it to be real. He wants to have the taste of your lips lingering on his own. He wants to have your scent coating his pillowcase. The smell of strawberry shampoo, just like what his nose is catching a whiff of right now—

Wait.

He swallows, the realization hits him like a wave.

It’s not a dream.

She was here.

Eren jumps down the bed, trips over his clothes, and swears under his breath as he tries to dress as fast as he can. Stumbling out of his room, he runs as if his feet were catching on fire, trying to find where you are. The mansion is too big for him to be able to locate you immediately, and with each stride he takes, his heart pounds harder. What if she’s not here? He calls out your name, shouting at the top of his lungs. There’s no answer but his own rapid breathing. What if she thought last night was a mistake and she left me?

Eren can’t think, his body moving on autopilot. Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to run and scream your name for too long. His breath leaves him at once when he finds you at the kitchen, sitting on the counter with your legs dangling in the air. You’re fresh out of the shower, dressed in a white shirt and denim shorts, with your hair flowing to your shoulders. You have a pair of earphones strapped to your ear, his iPod settled between your hands.

Your eyes instantly largen at the sight of him bursting into the kitchen. Eren gawkily stands before you with his hair tousled, loose strands covering the throbbing veins in his neck like a cloak. “Oh…” Relief crosses his face, mixed with the look of panic that remains. “You’re still here…”

You fail to catch his words, the music is blasting too vehemently in your head for you to hear anything else. Shutting off the iPod and unfastening your earphones from your ears, you greet him nonchalantly with a, “Hey.”

“H-hey…”

Unlike him, you’re a better actor. He doesn’t seem to notice the queasiness in your chest—something that’s been shrouding you from the second you woke up. “Glad you’re awake,” you utter nonchalantly, jumping off the counter. “I was about to make some coffee. You want some?”

Eren curls his fingers around the fabric of his sweatpants. “Sure.”

It’s awkward. It feels so, so terribly awkward that he begins to tense every time you breathe a little too sharp or sip your coffee a little too loud. Sitting on the other side of the dining table, Eren faces you like how he usually does, but for the first time, instead of exchanging secret glances and demure smiles, all he does is try not to feel like the ground is cracking open beneath him, ready to swallow him whole.

You haven’t spoken a line and it kills him. It kills him even more that he can’t seem to find the words to say.

“Last night!” Eren starts, a little bit too loud that you both flinch at the sound of his voice.“About, uh, about last night—I mean, this morning—when we—when I—”

“Last night,” you cut him off. Your voice, unlike his, is much steadier. Perhaps, almost too formal, which causes him to sit stiffly on his seat. But after spending months together, you’re not fooling anyone but yourself. Eren can tell that you’re about as nervous as he is. “Do you regret it?” You ask him.

“Regret—no, of course not.” Eren has his eyebrows adjoined together, forehead creasing in confusion. “Do you?”

You avert your gaze, raising the usual red mug you use to your lips. The aromatic scent of sizzling hot coffee fails to comfort you. “No.”

Silence follows right after, striking like a hurricane and Eren despises it so much for driving him insane. “Why won’t you look at me, then?”

You release a heavy breath in response, tucking your chin and letting your eyes be concealed by your fringe. Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you find yourself avoiding his gaze.

Oh, Eren realizes, taking in every detail of your body language. She’s just embarrassed about it.

“I don’t know how to face you,” you admit, making a steeple of your fingers and hoping he doesn’t notice the way they quiver lightly. “I didn’t think that… We’d end up that way.”

Eren separates his mouth but for the first three seconds, his thoughts are as clear as the sky. “Then…” he croaks out uncertainly, with his throat blazing in flames. “Do you want to pretend it never happened?”

You seem to be taken aback by his words. Appalled, even, to hear him proposing something like that. Transforming the bewilderment in your eyes into a scowl, you set your mug down on the table with a loud thud and rise from your seat. His heart palpitates when he sees you making your way to him, your hands curling into tiny balls of fists. Eren can sense fury vibrating through your entire being. He raises one hand in the air in an attempt to calm you down.

“Wait, before you punch me, let’s—”

Climbing onto his lap, you kiss him with your fingers twining around his hair, gaining control, overwhelming him with the sensation of your mouth tasting and nibbling. “Mmph—” Eren exhales heavily through his nose as a deep furrow breaks on his temple, his eyes tightly shut in reflex. You’re ravenous for him, kissing him as if you had been wanting to do it for decades, pouring all the heat and longing in a simple movement of your lips parting his, your tongue gliding past his teeth. He tastes like the morning coffee, his kiss moist and warm like a rain shower in the summer.

He’s a mess under your hands, groaning lowly when you tug on his roots. Body reacting instinctively, Eren lays one hand on your back, supporting your weight, while his other one slides down to cup your bottom. A moan departs from your mouth and he grips onto you harder, his large palm cupping your behind over your denim, fingers digging into the fabric. He pulls you closer, your breasts pressed against his chest, your heartbeats clashing against one another. It’s suffocating, the way you kiss him, and Eren loves it so much that he doesn’t mind if you take all his breath away.

Whether seconds or minutes have passed, none of you cares enough to tell. Breaking away with a string of saliva connecting your parting lips, you ask between heavy breaths, “Do you want to pretend this never happened?”

He stares dumbly at you, trapped between peering deep into your beautiful eyes or gazing at the way your lips are glistening with his spit. Once your words sink in, however, the answer forms instantly. “Fuck no,” Eren replies, and this time, he’s the one who takes the air out of your lungs.

Perhaps it’s because you both have secretly wanted each other for so long, that once you’ve succumbed to him, everything pours out at once like a landslide. Every passion, every need, every desire, and every kiss, they’re the eternal fire that only burns brighter each time you repeat the motion. But Eren is a gentleman, he’s always been from day one even when he did have his moments where he wasn’t as chivalrous as he wanted to be.

He slows down your pace, embracing you close until you have your legs tangled around his waist. As your fingertips skate over his nape, you can feel him shuddering, his blush turning a shade deeper.

“Don't tease me like that,” he lightly scolds, the tip of his nose gliding against the side of your throat. “I’ve told you before. I have a sensitive neck.”

You can’t see it, but you’re a hundred percent sure that he’s pouting. Gaining your confidence back, you slide your hand down from his stomach to his belt. Your fingers slip underneath the fabric of his shirt, grazing your digits against his navel. “Are you sensitive down here too?” He sharply gasps, his abdomen muscles tautening at the touch as if your fingers were made of ice. You giggle, murmuring against his ear. “Seems like you are.”

He stops you before you can shift your hand lower. “Wait—” Crimson paints his ears, words rushing down in one breath. “Please don’t touch me, I—I haven’t showered yet.”

Out of all the things he could’ve been musing about, he’s worried about this. Your heart melts a little at his words, thinking just how adorable he looks right now with that little blush and his nervous gaze. Kissing his jaw, you whisper, “I don’t care.”

“I do,” he insists, the little scowl on his temple and the redness of his cheeks make a funny combination. “I don’t want our first time to be like this. Not here in the kitchen, not with me still smelling like yesterday’s sweat. You deserve better.”

It’s almost laughable how your stomach flips at his words. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” He exclaims. “No, I want—” His hand fists the back of your shirt, his nails almost clawing against your spine. “I want to touch you. We can still…” The way his cheeks feel like burning makes it hard for him to think. “We can still kiss and do stuff, but not… sex.”

You decide to poke fun at him. “You thought we were going to have sex?”

His mouth falls open as he turns pasty. “Were we—are we not going to?”

Holy shit, he really is adorable. You conceal your smile by planting your lips on his again, feeling him stiffen before he loosens up, sighing into your mouth. Your hands roam his chest again, feeling how toned his muscles are and trying not to be swallowed by the yearning that grows immensely fast within you. He stops you again when you lift his shirt, almost making you groan in protest. “Not now, please, I’m sweaty,” he says diffidently. “But… I want to touch you if you’d let me.”

How is it fair for him to touch you when he doesn’t allow you to do the same? You wish you could form your complaint out loud but he’s looking at you with his puppy eyes and his teeth chewing nervously on his lip. Sighing, you drop your hands at your sides, gesturing to him to take the lead. “Have it your way then.”

His tongue peeks out to wet his lip, the sight makes your stomach crawl with need as he looks… sensual when he does it. A bit dangerous too, as if he just can’t wait to ravish every bit of you. You’re a Christmas present he’s been itching to unwrap, but he tries his best to take it slow.

He has your earlobe between his lips, being so gentle and arousing at the same time. You feel delirious at the sound of his lips parting and closing around your skin, trembling when you feel his tongue tracing the shape of your shell. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmurs as he peppers kisses down the column of your throat, painting red marks on a canvas of pulsating veins.

“I’d never want you to.”

Eren has more experience than you when it comes to this. You can tell by the way he easily finds your favorite spots for his teeth to nibble on—places that you, yourself, didn’t even know were sensitive until you felt his breath caressing the skin. You can tell by the way he slips his fingers through your strands, angling your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss, his tongue moving expertly against yours. He leads but he lets you take control. He dominates, but he allows you to do the same. He burns you with his passion and soothes you down with his tenderness.

“Can I take off your shirt?” He asks, looking up at you with hesitancy in his eyes. He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you firmly on his lap.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, your face hovers above his. “You can do whatever you want with me,” you whisper back with half-lidded eyes, amorous and alluring. With a new wave of desire crashing over him, Eren returns to his feet with one hand supporting your back and another one knocking off every plate and glass off the dining table with one swipe.

He settles you down on the wooden top, yanking off your shirt over your head. The sudden vigor in his movements doubles the thrill, especially when he lands his fingers on your collarbones, pushing you down until your spine is pressed flat against the table. Settling himself between your legs, he closes the gap to kiss you but stops once he notices the way you’re giggling at him. “W-what?”

“Nothing.” Merriment always looks beautiful on you. “You just went from zero to one hundred real quick.”

“Am I—are we going too fast?”

“No, I like it.” You tangle your fingers around his necklace, pulling him down until your lips meet again. “Was that really necessary, though?” You ask him between snickers, referring to the plates that are now scattered all over the floor, shattered into tiny pieces.

“No.” He mirrors your naughty grin, albeit a tad more timorous. “But I’ve always wanted to try that. Looks so sexy in the movies. Tom Cruise did that once in—”

“I’ve had enough of Tom Cruise.” The next kiss is shared between smiles and stifled laughter. “You know you’re gonna have to clean the floor, right?”

“Or we can just move to another house,” he reasons, planting never-ending kisses from your lips to your throat. “I’m bored with this one already.”

“You’ll buy me another house? Oh, honey, you’re so rich,” you tease him and you can feel his chuckles reverberating on your skin.

Eren cups your breast, the lines of his palm brushing against the lace of your bra. His eyes drift to your face, watching your expression closely. “Is… this okay?”

“Are you going to ask about everything?”

“I’m trying to make sure that you’re okay with what I’m doing.”

“You’re testing on my patience, that’s what you’re doing.”

“But—”

“Look, if I don’t like what you’re doing, I’m gonna kick you in the balls. If I like what you’re doing, I won’t. How about that?”

“Umm… Okay.” He grimaces. “Can you leave my balls alone, though? They’re my greatest assets.”

“God, we’re talking way too much.” Covering his knuckles with your palm, you guide his hand to squeeze your breast harder. “Like this,” you say and he lets out a sharp gasp. You urge him to knead your soft mound, slipping his fingers underneath your bra. “Touch me like this, Ren.”

He blushes madly, gulping at how brazen you are but what he doesn’t know is that, deep down, you feel just as embarrassed as he is. Your pulse is racing, your thoughts only revolve around him. His hands… They feel so good on you. They’re huge on your body, so warm and calloused. Gathering another shot of courage, you shift his hand upward, pushing up your bra until your chest is fully exposed. There’s almost an immediate “Fuck,” that departs from his lips and you feel naked under his wandering stare.

You’ve never had a man—a handsome one like him—studying you with so much desire in his eyes. His gaze burns your skin, adding fuel to the flame that’s blazing in the pit of your stomach.

But when you expect him to go frenzy, Eren’s eyes fall on the scar that coats the skin above your heart. It’s small, not even a couple of inches wide, and it’s nowhere deep enough to leave a prominent cicatrix but Eren notices it.

“Is this…” He traces his middle and index fingers over the scar, causing your body to turn rigid. “…from when you tried to…” He lets his sentence hang in the air.

You nod, feeling utterly ashamed at first, but when your mind recalls what happened that night when you tried to end your life for good, sorrow clouds over your features. Eren sees it, feels his heart break at the sight but instead of comforting you with words, he bends his head down and brushes his lips against the scar.

You flinch, body tensing. “E-Eren—”

He kisses it again, softly, mouth parting only to close again once they meet your skin. Surprised by the intimacy, you drape an arm over your face, not wanting him to see the storm of emotions that washes your features. “I’m so grateful you’re alive.” You can feel his every word being painted directly on your body. “It takes courage to drive a knife through your heart, but it takes even more than that to continue living. And I’m so—” His lips are now placed upon yours, planting a chaste kiss. He then moves your arm away from your face, gazing affectionately at you. “—proud of what you did. Proud of what you’ve become. You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met, Princess.”

There’s a sudden surge in your chest that threatens to bring tears to your eyes and you kiss him hard and fast, trying to distract yourself away. “Touch me,” you plead against his mouth, your fingers clutching desperately around his necklace. “I want your hands on me, Ren.”

For a moment, Eren loses control. He has his right hand squeezing on your breast, a little bit too hard than you would’ve liked it but that’s why you enjoy it even more. His left one moves to your other mound, trapping your nipple between his fingers before they replace them with his mouth. Your body jerks in response, surprised by how he suddenly sucks on the bud, moaning lowly as he does it. Your legs wrap themselves around his back, your fingers buried in his hair again. “Ah, Eren—”

You harden between his lips, even more so when he has you between his teeth. Shivers cascade through you and you writhe, holding back your gasp. He flicks his tongue, making you squirm before he slightly opens his mouth wider and latches it fully on your breast. He suckles on the skin, releasing it with a pop. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, moving to the other one to repeat the same motions. “So fucking beautiful.”

You’re losing your mind, you can feel it. It scares you how easily he could make you feel good. He’s only been using his lips and tongue and you’re already a mess.

He paints small kisses on the valley between your breasts, moving lower and lower, gently nibbling on the soft skin of your stomach just to switch up the game. But to him, your body isn’t something he could play with. This is not a game, and Eren has never been this serious in his life before. You’re a novel he wants to read, a poem he wants to remember, a beautiful painting he wants to admire. And he makes sure that you feel that. These emotions that build inside him. How his body is aching to fill the spaces between yours and his. He wants you to know just how intense they are.

His lips trace the shape of your hip bone, fingers tugging down on your shorts and you stiffen. Is he going to—You try to relax, biting back your moan but Eren never seems to miss reading even the slightest of your reaction. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s, uhh…” Your face feels feverish, trying to find an excuse. “Your stubble tickles.”

“What? Oh.” He breaks away, his hand finds his chin, rubbing along the shape of his jaw. “Oh right, I haven’t shaved in a week.”

The tension from before starts to disperse and you find yourself breathing in relief. You have a hunch on what he was planning to do. And if he managed to make you whimper just from having his mouth on your chest, you don’t want to imagine how wrecked you’d be if you have him… down there. Knowing how your heart isn’t ready to have his head between your legs just yet, you lie, “I can’t concentrate with your stubble prickling against my skin.”

“Huh?” A dejected look flashes by on his face. “Oh… Then I’ll go, uh, shave—”

“Want me to do it for you?”

He coughs, baffled. “W-what?”

It’s frightening the way he easily transforms from the man who offers romance and devotion, to a Greek God who reeks with allure and sexiness, to an adorable little puppy that obeys your every wish. Your mouth twitches up in a smile, your heart rate returning to its normal state. Spreading out your arms, you tease him with a sweet smile. “If you carry me to the bathroom like the Princess that I am, I’ll help you shave.”

The way you suddenly act so spoiled startles him, but it doesn’t take another second before it becomes his new favorite thing. “Well then,” he bends down, scooping you up in his arms. “I shouldn’t waste such a generous offer now, should I?”

So he makes his way to the bathroom with your feet dangling in the air, your arms winding around his neck and your lips lingering on his smile.

***

“Okay, hold still.”

No one should look this adorable while doing something as trivial as applying shaving cream, but you, sitting on the bathroom counter with your feet hovering a few inches above the ground, smearing the gel across his face, look exactly like that.

Leaning forward, Eren rests both palms on the counter, trapping your body between his strong arms while he settles himself between your legs. He has taken a quick shower, the end of his damp hair reaching down to his shoulder blades. He’s only worn back his jeans, a thin layer of his happy trail is visible to your eyes but you pretend to be unaware of it. You expected him to tease you with comments about his body, but he’s too nervous to even start a basic conversation. His breath smells like peppermint, filling the air—the same air that you breathe in with how close you are to him.

Eren, on the other hand, can only taste the sweetness of your scent. How does it work anyway? Do you always carry a bottle of strawberry shampoo with you to constantly smell like one? Or do you just naturally smell like strawberry and cinnamon, and even jasmine or anything else that is sweet and delightful in the world?

“I see somebody is staring.” You chuckle to yourself, spreading a thin layer of cream over his face, applying it in an upward motion. “Might want to tone it down a little bit there, cowboy, or else I’ll start getting the wrong idea.”

“What, uh,” he clears his throat, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You casually shrug, but the way you bat your eyelashes is nothing but seductive. “I’ll probably start thinking that you fancy me.”

His face warms. “Isn’t it… obvious that I like you?”

“Of course.” You hum, smiling to yourself. “I just wasn’t aware that you liked me this much.”

“I—I like you a normal amount.”

“Sure, yeah. I mean, it’s not like you jerk off in the bathroom once every three days, thinking about me.”

“What—” He chokes. “How do you know about that?!”

“You were?!” You blurt out, now turning just as flustered. “I was just joking!”

If his face could explode, it would’ve. “Oh my God, let’s just—Let’s stop talking for a while.”

You want to laugh but you don’t want to destroy his self-esteem any further. At least not today, you can start again tomorrow. “Okay.” Snatching the razor blade from the counter, you raise it in the air. “You ready, big boy?”

He gives you a tiny nod, as firm as a wooden board.

“Why are you so nervous?” You titter. “I’m good with my hands. You know how skillful I am with knives.”

He nearly sighs, frustrated. “I’m not nervous because of that.”

“Then, what’s wrong?”

You tilt your head to the side, cutely, like a little girl asking for more candies. This, he groans inwardly, you acting like this is what’s making me nervous. You’re causing him to feel a lot of things at once—wonderful things he didn’t know would have this much effect on him. “Just…” He swallows thickly, trying to maintain his gaze from drifting back to your lips. “Be careful.”

“Yes, Sir.”

His heart melts at your grin, no matter how many times he’s seen it. You seem so thrilled, can’t even hold back your smile as you begin from the side of his cheek, doing consistent, shorter strokes on his face. At one point, you start crooning to yourself, enjoying every second that passes by, oblivious to the thunderous sound of his heartbeat that rings in his ears.

Eren tries not to stare at you so much, he really does, but he always fails at the moment he starts. How can he not? You’re so beautiful like this. Your face is relaxed and open, your posture at ease and unguarded. Your eyes gleam in excitement, watching him closely, sometimes with your eyebrows stitched together as you fall deep in concentration. It’s like taking care of him is self-indulgence for you, and you find joy with every happiness you bestow on him.

It’s almost like we’re lovers, Eren muses, his heart dares to hope. “Shaving my stubble… This is the kind of thing that lovers do, isn’t it?”

“Lovers, huh?” You move the razor to his other cheek now that you’ve finished with the first one. “I’ve never done this with my past boyfriends before so I wouldn’t know.”

“Do you... ” He dawdles, gathering the courage he needs. “...want to be my girlfriend?”

“Sure.” You shrug. “If you want me to.”

He did not expect this conversation to go so smoothly like this, especially with you acting so casual. He gulps, “I—I want you to.”

“Then, I guess, we’re dating.” Done with shaving him clean, you toss back your razor to the sink. “I mean, I would’ve said that I’d only agree to it if the world was ending, but since it is, sure, why not? Don’t know why you find relationship status to be important in this hellhole, but if it makes you happy, then hey, by all means.”

Not wanting to get his shaving cream in his hair, you reach out to tuck the stray strands behind his ear. It’s a simple gesture but you can see how he fidgets at your touch, overwhelmed by the intimacy. You lock gazes, and to him, it feels like one of those movie scenes where the whole world fades into a blur. “Your hair,” you say, almost in a whisper. “Kinda makes you look like a girl sometimes.”

Eren is too entranced by the shape of your lips and how they move to understand what you're saying. “Umm… Thanks.”

“You’re taking that as a compliment?”

“Huh? Yeah… I guess?”

You bite your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from snickering because clearly, he hasn't been listening to you. You don’t mean to seduce him with it, but in his eyes, your lips just suddenly look a hundred times more inviting. He has to tighten his grip on the edge of the counter to refrain himself from kissing you, knowing that you’d pout and glare at him if he accidentally smears his shaving cream on your face. But then again, he loves seeing you pout too, so maybe he should do it?

“You do know that being my girlfriend means that I get to kiss you anytime I want, right?”

His question stupefies you for a second. “Is that the reason why you asked me to be your girlfriend?”

“No.” He showcases a boyish grin that radiates so much joy, it almost paints one on your face. “I’m just giving you a heads-up so you won’t be surprised when I do. Those lips are mine now.”

“Okay, first of all? If you want to be my boyfriend, you need to stop spouting out corny lines. Second—”

Your playful complaint is swallowed by his kiss. You can feel his mouth curving up in a gleeful smile as his shaving cream daubs on your face. “Stop it!” You playfully slap him on the chest and his grins break wider, nuzzling his face against yours even further. “No, wait, you’re getting cream all over my—Bad dog!” You guffaw, but with every push Eren pulls you closer, rubbing his skin against yours.

You’re a mess. You have shaving cream on your fringe, your nose, even a little bit in your mouth. As your laughter reduces to giggles, he lets you finish your job, wiping him clean with a fresh towel and doing the same to your own. Once you both have your faces spotless, his jaw and chin are now porcelain-smooth, he thanks you with a peck on your head.

“How do I look?” Eren asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Look less like a hobo, which is a massive improvement.” You pat his cheek. You’re about to jump down from the bathroom counter when he catches your wrist, putting your movements into a halt.

A bit startled, you raise an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the solemn look on his face. “What?”

“I like you,” he says with more pressure in his words than you would expect. “I really do. You don’t know how much you’re driving me crazy.”

You stop and stare, stunned for a few seconds before a coy smile forms on your lips. “You drive me crazy sometimes too.”

He swallows his breath. “I do?” Eren is so enchanted by you that even when you have him between your legs, his body standing close enough where you can taste his minty breath, he still thinks like this is a dream.

His grip around you loosens and you use the chance to twirl your fingers around his necklace. “Eren…” You lean close enough for your nose to brush against his. “Do you want me?”

You know how he would respond, or at least, you think you do. He would kiss you, maybe even say, “What do you think?” before he does. But Eren gathers your face in his hands, lifting it to meet his gaze. He peers deep into your eyes, his emerald ones are wonderfully intoxicating. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you now, Princess.”

Your shoulders tense at his whispers, doubled by tenfolds at the feeling of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. A sudden urge overwhelms you. A sudden need. The desire you have for him. You wish you could be more confident about it when you say it, more alluring, and you thought you had the courage but now that you’re this close, with this tension surrounding you, your words are not louder than a whisper.

“Then take me to bed.”

***

For someone who curses a lot while playing video games, Eren is surprisingly patient when it comes to sex. He doesn’t ask as many questions as he did in the kitchen earlier, knowing that it would only ruin the moment. He tries not to think too much, simply moving based on what his body, and ultimately, what your body tells him to do.

You are now lying on his bed, trapped underneath him with your limbs tangled, lips locked, strands pulled between sighs and moans. Eren takes his time, giving you a chance to breathe whenever you feel like you're suffocated by his kisses.

“Feels good?”

“Yeah, do it again,” you say every time, not caring what he does, only paying attention to the fireworks he sparks all over your skin.

“I’m gonna take off your clothes, okay?” He states it as a warning, not a question, but you still find yourself nodding your head because you know he’ll stop if you don’t give him the sign. And God, please, you don’t want him to stop.

He’s only been wearing his jeans from the start but you’re the one who is stripped naked first. Even though most of the windows are covered by wooden boards, the sunlight still seeps in, casting amber on your skin while making his glow even more appealing. You wish the world wasn’t ending so you could do this with him at night where you can rely on the darkness to conceal parts of your body that you’re not proud of.

You’re shy, embarrassingly so, that he ends up asking you, “Are you sure about this?” He wolfs down the other line he wanted to say, but you can hear his unspoken words: This isn’t your first time, is it?

“Yes, I’m sure.” In an attempt to hide your bashfulness, you end up pouting at him, speaking a bit more coldly than you would’ve liked. Had you been brazen enough like how you were in the kitchen a couple of hours ago, you would’ve just spread your legs, would've shown him where you wanted him the most but you couldn’t. Now that you know you’re finally going to have sex with him, it elevates the tension. Every kiss makes you feel self-conscious, every touch makes you feel insecure. Because Eren is perfect and you are not.

You have scars marring your skin, ones that you received from trying to survive a battle of your life each day. Your bruises may have vanished without a trace but these cuts are permanent, just like the one above your heart and the wound inside your chest. And it’s not just that. As a woman—as a girl who wants to be in her most beautiful form in front of her lover—right now, you’re just… you. Bare without a layer of make-up, exposed without anything to cover your blemish. Your lips are chapped from the cold. Your nails are bitten and uneven. Your hair has split ends, dry and dull. You feel so plain, so flawed, so imperfe—

“You’re perfect,” he breathes out, like a secret breaking past his lips. His heart thrums loudly as he rakes his eyes across your features, mesmerized by every inch of exposed skin, captivated by your expression. Eren loves the curve of your waist, wondering how perfect it would look when he settles his hand there. He loves the shape of your mouth, appearing as delicate as you are when you smile. He loves how small your hands are compared to his, how your fingers are a couple of inches shorter but they fit him perfectly like a set of a jigsaw. He adores you, adores every little scar you have, wishing you’d allow him to appreciate each one with his lips as they are the proof that you’ve survived this far, the marks that led you to him.

Your arms are crossed in front of your chest. Your thighs are pressed tightly against each other, your body almost curling into a ball under his gaze. “You, um—” A nervous giggle escapes you as you hug yourself, hiding as much skin as you can. “Can you not… look at me?”

“Why not?”

Feeling it is one thing, admitting it out loud is a whole new level of shame. “‘Cause…” You tuck your chin, tossing your head to the side. “It’s embarrassing…”

Seeing you behave this way is such a fascinating experience. He has seen you act bashful before, has seen you play with your hair when his praise got to your head. But you’ve never looked this… innocent. You seem much more juvenile, more vulnerable and feminine, like a beautiful young Victorian lady with her confidence wavering during her wedding night. He loves your strong demeanor, he admires your bravery, but he adores this side of you. He has caught a glimpse of it before when you told him your darkest secret, and now, you’re doing it again, only a million times cuter.

Maybe… Maybe this is the part where he…

Warmth spreads from his chest, smearing to his neck before it paints color on his cheeks. I’m in love with her, aren’t I? He asks himself, his heart pounding thunderously at the revelation.

Noticing him grow silent, you return your gaze to him. “Eren?”

You’re ethereal. You’ve always been beautiful in his eyes but never like this. Flashback of every smile you’ve thrown his way, every call of his name, every bit of concern and panic you showed in your eyes when you felt his life was in danger—they all come rushing in, filling his chest with more happiness than he could take, and making his thoughts jumbled.

Shit, he swallows his breath, his fingers fisting the sheets. I am in love with her.

“Hey…” You reach out to grab his cheek, eyebrows adjoined as you try to understand what’s going on. “What’s wrong?”

I’m in love with you. “Nothing,” he croaks out. There’s a piece of glass stuck in his throat and he can’t get it out.

“Do you still want to do this?”

“Yes.” He wets his lip, growing anxious but his answer is immediate. “Yes, of course.”

I want to tell her. I want to tell her how much I love her but now’s not the time. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? He ruminates as he kisses you again. She looks like she wants to keep it casual. Hell, she didn’t even react much when I asked her to be my girlfriend earlier. What if she doesn’t take this seriously? What if I’m going too fast and I'll scare her away?

“You’re distracted,” you comment, pulling away from the kiss. “Do you not…” You tarry, nibbling on your lip nervously. “Do you not like what you see?”

Oh my God, I’m the worst. Never has he ever wanted to beat himself up this much in his life before. How can he let his thoughts sidetrack him so much that he forgets to appreciate you? To the point that he’s making you feel insecure about your body?

So he calls upon your name in a way that never fails to send goosebumps scattering over your body. He slips his fingers between yours, intertwining your hands together. Lifting them in the air, Eren lets his lips linger at the back of your hand as he murmurs, “All my life… I have never seen anything that looks more beautiful than you are to me right now.”

His words leave you dizzy, the happiness and relief he gives you are so intense, you feel like you're burned by them. “What—” You simulate a scowl to secrete your stammer. “What did I say about not spouting out corny lines?”

He blinks his eyes slowly, perceiving you with such an adoring gaze. “Am I not allowed to be honest?”

“It’s not that, it’s—” You exhale harshly. “I can’t handle praises well, so… I-it’s better if you don’t say anything.”

A corner of his mouth is lifted. “Did I just hear you stutter?”

“Jesus,” you mutter, chagrined. “I don’t know about you but sex usually doesn’t involve this much talking.”

“I think I’m pretty good at it, though.”

“What, talking?”

“No, sex.” He smirks, baffling you for a second. He smashes your lips again before you can utter a word, reviving the earlier fervor. His hand roams around your chest, massaging your mound. With his mouth drawing designs on the spot underneath your ear, he whispers, “If I take off the rest of my clothes, would you let me do it again?”

You’re hazy, your mind is fogged. “Do what?”

“Stare at you.” He pulls away, his lips curving up in a nervous smile. “I don’t want to sound like a creep but I want to see more. I want to know—to learn everything about you. Not just your body. I want to know everything that makes you happy, everything that makes you sad, or scared, or angry.”

“Eren, we’re going to have sex, not getting married.”

“Well, then, teach me.” Still hovering above you, he leans closer with his thumb stroking your bottom lip. “Tell me what you want me to do. I want to touch you exactly in the way you want me to. I want to please you in bed, want to make you come until your whole body shakes—”

You slap a hand over his mouth, your face sizzling hot. “Stop talking.”

His voice is muffled but you can tell he’s saying, “I’m sorry.”

If you could turn invisible, you would do it just so you could sneak out of the room without him noticing. His honesty, no matter how much you appreciate it, kills you sometimes. His duality is concerning too. He can be so mischievously sexy in one second, and then awkwardly sheepish in the next one. There’s no in-between. Placing your arm loosely over your face, you bleat, “Just do whatever you want. Except talking!” You hurriedly correct with a shout. “I can’t handle any more embarrassing lines coming out of you right now.”

Your diffidence rubs off on him. He usually—no, he never felt this nervous being with a girl before because he never cared much. And now, he has you lying down on his bed—the girl whose life he values more than his own. “I’ll let you stare at me too,” he proposes, as a way to make you feel better. “I mean if…” He scratches his cheek timorously. “If that’s what you want, of course…”

Even your actual first time didn’t feel this awkward. But his awkwardness is what makes him different, what makes him endearing. It’s nice to see someone as attractive as Eren Jaeger, who always teases and flirts with you every time he has the chance, to turn into a gawky young man under your gaze. “Take them off then,” you tell him, gesturing to his jeans.

He breathes in sharply. “Okay…”

Breaking away from you, he stands on his knees and straightens his back. He still has his body facing you, but he casts his gaze downward, teeth restlessly chewing on his bottom lip. You scrutinize him, taking the chance to marvel at every ridge of his muscles. You wouldn’t call yourself an artist, but at this moment, you want to make him your canvas. Want to trace every line of his body with your finger, want to add colors with your lips, maybe red, or purple if you do it hard enough. But then again, Eren already looks like a painting, one that was perhaps crafted by Hephaestus Himself.

He can only go as far as unzipping his pants when he feels like steam is erupting from his ears. “Y-you know what, maybe you can do it for me?” He says, cringing. “It feels so unnatural if I undress with you watching me like that.”

“Oh my God, we’re so bad at this,” you groan, rubbing a hand over your face but your body shakes with mirth. Eren relaxes, his smile finding its way back to his lips. Since when does your happiness become his, he wonders?

You stretch out one hand, calling him back to you with a mousy smile. “Come here.”

Without wasting a second, Eren crawls back, legs sliding against the sheets. With his elbows settled on each side of your head, he presses his lips firmly against yours. You’re starting all over, taking your time, getting used to everything.

“Wait,” you vocalize before he moves down to your neck. “To ease this heavy sexual tension between us,” you emphasize the words dramatically. “Let’s do this.” Bringing back his iPod from the nightstand, you slide your thumb along with the screen and choose a song. Unplugging your earphones from the jack, the music plays on speaker.

“You’re kidding me,” Eren flatly says the second he hears the intro, visibly judging you.

“What, it’s a sex song.” You shrug, settling the iPod down on the pillow right next to you. “Plus, you have this on your playlist so it’s basically your fault.” You slide your arms across his chest, moving up until you have your arms winding around his neck. “And like my dear Bruno said,” you grin, singing along to the song, “Let’s just kiss ‘till we’re naked, baby.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” But it works because Eren is chuckling against your mouth, kissing you with never-ending smiles and you both start to relax. He begins to continue his journey down your neck when you sigh out in bliss, still singing along to the song with your eyes closed. “Take it off for me, for me, for me, for me now, girl. Versace on the floor. Oooh—Oh! Shit, wait—”

You jolt, your legs closing around his head. The sensation of his tongue gliding over your folds sends blood rushing fast to your face.

“W-what?” He asks, eyes growing wide in shock. He lifts his head, searching your face, afraid that he’d hurt you. “Something’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just—” You gulp, trying to soothe down the fire blazing in your throat. “I didn’t think you’d just… dive in.”

His shoulders relax, his stare turning flat. “If you hadn’t been too busy singing, you would’ve noticed I was heading that way.”

“Well, sorry.” Unlike him, you don’t bite back your sarcasm nor did you try to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. “I was just trying to light up the tension ‘cause we’ve been acting like a bunch of virgins.”

“But you’re not, are you?”

You scoff. “Of course not.”

“Then, you won’t mind if I do this.” Again, without warning, he lowers his head, spreading you open with his fingers and placing his mouth right above your heat. The feeling of his tongue probing against your entrance before it moves up to circle your clit, causes you to bring your hand to your lips, tucking your index finger between your teeth to stop yourself from making a sound.

Fuck, he’s good. It’s not like you expected him to be bad at it. It’s just… You didn’t think he’d be this good.

“Don’t stop singing now, Princess,” he coos. His usual cheekiness returns now that he has you under his mercy. He pins your thigh against the sheets with his palm, holding it still. “The song isn’t over yet.”

Fuck the song. Fuck Bruno Mars. Fuck everything, you scream internally because Eren is now bringing two of his fingers inside his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around them. Now drenched with saliva, he slides them away from between his lips and presses his digits against your folds. “Versace on the floor,” he sings along with his devilish smirk intact, kissing your clit once before he rubs his fingers up and down your heat.

God, you hold back your moan. The way he plays with your body feels mortifying but what you don’t know is that even if he seems more relaxed, he still occasionally drags his eyes to your face, observing you, afraid that he might be doing something wrong. “Talk to me,” he says.

The sheets are crumpled underneath your fingers. “You want me to recite the damn lyrics?”

“Sure, if you want to.” Your remark makes him titter. “I was referring to this, though.” He teases your entrance with one finger as he applies a little bit more pressure on your clit with his thumb. Your thighs quiver at the stimulation. “Tell me what makes you feel good.”

Everything you’re doing right now. “Just… keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

“If you keep talking, yes, you are.”

Eren chortles once, awkward but much more at ease. “Sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

You grip the edge of your pillow tightly when you feel him again, feel his breath on your thigh, feel his lips clamping onto your clit, feel his tongue licking a stripe up your arousal. “You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to do this,” he replaces his mouth with his fingers as he speaks, keeping them busy by drawing obscene circles on your nub. “Having my tongue on you was a pleasure, but having my tongue in you—” He emphasizes his words by delving his tongue deeper inside, the tip of his nose pressed against your pelvis. “You’re so fucking sweet, it’s addicting.” His slick muscle mimics the motion of making love before he retracts it away and flicks it over your bundle of nerves. He works on you with expert ease, and if you had the time to care, you’d wonder if it’s because he’s just naturally gifted at this or whether he has his fair share of experience with pleasing women with his tongue. But you don’t care about anything else. Right now, he’s bringing you to the brink and you’re enjoying every second of it.

You begin to move against his mouth, one hand sliding into his hair, making him groan in rapture. He wants this, wants to have you grind yourself on his tongue, wants you to use him as you please. He reads your body perfectly like an open book, sucking on your clit when you want him to, fucking you with his tongue without needing you to beg. “You’re so good,” you rasp, pushing back his hair. There’s something satisfying to have him looking up at you from between your legs with half-lidded eyes, your praise smears pretty colors on his face. It builds on your confidence.

“Make me come, Ren.” You can feel the vibration of his moan on your skin as you push his head closer. “Make me come so I can come on your cock next.”

Fuck, he never wants anything more.

You don’t know how long—or how fast—it takes until your orgasm washes over you. You can only tell how intense it is, how blissful it feels once it melts away. Eren still lazily rolls his tongue over your sensitive parts, lapping up your juices until there’s nothing left for him to savor. With labored breath, you ask him to return to your lips, can’t handle being overstimulated. He showers your thigh and stomach with sweet kisses before he makes his way back to you.

“Did it feel good?” He questions, genuinely curious about it. There’s even worry in his eyes when you can’t answer him right away.

“You heard me beg and scream your name like that and you think it didn’t feel good?”

He pouts. “You see, sometimes just a little yes is enough.”

You giggle, stroking his hair as you sink your head into your pillow. “It felt wonderful. Thank you.”

His heart throbs with content. Framing your cheek, he leans close. “Can I kiss you?” He stops to say. “I mean, I’m not sure if you want to taste your—”

You kiss him, not letting him finish his sentence because you know where that leads to. He moans when he feels your tongue slithering inside, twirling around his. There’s a brief gasp that escapes him when you’re bold enough to suck on his tongue, stealing every bit of your taste from his mouth. When you pull away, he’s in a haze. “Fuck, you’re such a good kisser.”

“Why, thank you,” you titter. “Wanna do that again?”

“Yes, please.”

As your mouths collide once more, you let him take the lead, making you weak with every swirl of his tongue, making you ache for more with every suck. Never have you wanted a man this much before in your life that you find yourself canting your hips, desperate for friction. Your hands work fast on his jeans, pushing them lower as best as you can until he takes charge and kicks them off his legs. With only his underwear separating your skin, you feel his clothed hardness pressing against your thigh.

Knowing that he’s just as aroused as you are, all of your self-control vanishes at once. “Fuck me, please…” you whisper, sounding so much sexier in his ear than his filthiest dream. “Eren, I want to feel you inside me.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thinks, excitement building up quickly, it’s sending his thoughts reeling. He can feel you pushing up your hips again, spreading your legs a little wider as you tangle your heels behind his back. Eren slides down a hand, tugging down the elastic band of his boxer briefs to let his cock spring free. You flinch, unfamiliar with the sensation when you feel the side of his length sliding up your folds, his pre-cum staining your pelvis. It’s so exciting just to have him this close, as if you’re walking on the ledge of a skyscraper, looking down to see how far you are from the ground. And you want more. You’re not scared of falling. You’re not scared of anything when you’re with him.

Eren is so fucking hard, it’s starting to feel painful for him. “Christ,” he breathes out, his temple resting on your shoulder. “This feels so good.” He grinds his hips, rubbing his cock up and down your throbbing sex. A moan breaks past your lips whenever he grazes your clitoris just right, each rub feels like a zap of electricity on your skin. “I’m not even inside you yet and I feel like I’m gonna come.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. His mouth just runs on its own.

You rake your nails down his back. “Do you have a condom with you?”

Eren lifts his face, his movements stop at once. “I… do,” he answers uncertainly as if he wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing to say.

“You do?” You asked him the question, true, but you didn’t expect him to answer it this way. Maybe boys do carry condoms in their wallets for special occasions like this. The thought of him having casual sex with strangers irks you but you try to push the thoughts away. There’s no reason to be jealous, anyway. There’s only you and him now, both in this room or this ghost town.

“Yeah, I, uh…” He averts his gaze, starting to mumble out his words. “I grabbed one when we went to the supermarket last month.”

You blink. “Why?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him. “Eren Jaeger, have you been planning to fuck me this whole time?”

His jaw drops. “It’s—it’s not like that! Well, I mean, yeah, okay, the thought kinda popped up in my head—more times than I’d like to admit—but I only shoved it down my bag because you showed up behind me and I panicked!”

“Why did you have a condom in your hands in the first place?”

“Because I was curious about it. It’s—” He quiets down, his next words almost inaudible. “It’s butterscotch flavored.”

“It’s what?”

He groans, landing his temple on your shoulder again. “Look, what if I just pull out?”

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me raw, Jaeger.”

“All right,” he sighs, tucking himself behind his underwear before he breaks away from you. Stepping off the bed, he speaks sotto voce to himself. “Guess we’re going with butterscotch then.”

He’s ashamed about it. There were so many other variants that he could’ve picked, ones that have normal flavors like strawberry or vanilla or something (then he realizes he doesn’t have to get a flavored condom in the first place and he panics). Would it make him seem like a freak for having a butterscotch-flavored condom? “Do I need to explain myself to her?”

“What are you mumbling about?” You question him while shrouding yourself with his quilt. He’s seen you naked but it doesn’t mean you’re comfortable with being exposed all the time.

Yeah, I probably should explain, he decides. “Okay, first of all? I swear, I’m not a freak,” Eren says as he returns to the bed, kneeling before you. He offers you a small box of condoms, coated in black with a little golden in it. “I just randomly grabbed one from the counter, that’s all. And you don’t have to, like, taste it or anything. I mean, I would love to have you taste my dick, would love to fuck your mouth with it—"

“Let’s go back to not talking?”

“Okay. Sorry.”

With your head a little dizzy from how much blood is rushing to your head, you read the cover. Your jaw unhinges. “Butterscotch?!”

He winces. “Again, I swear to God, I’m not a freak. I was just curious.”

“Curious of what, exactly?”

“Of whether…” He dawdles, casting his gaze at everywhere else but your face. “Whether you’d like it.”

“Whether I like having a butterscotch flavored dick in my mouth,” you repeat his words flatly and he’s seconds away from burying himself in a hole. It’s fun to tease him and you could do it for years but you’re both already past your limit. “Well, I’ve never tried so…”

“H-huh?” He watches you as if you’re growing another head when you rise from the bed and bring yourself to sit on your heels in front of him. “W-wait—You’re not going to—”

“I am.” You have one hand holding your blanket to your chest, looking up at him from your eyelashes. “Grab one for me?”

Eren noticeably gulps. Still standing on his knees, he snatches a condom from the box. “Do you want to, umm—or maybe I should just—”

You seize the condom from his hand. “I’ll do it.”

Eren can’t relax, not when he sees you wetting your lip nervously at the thought of tasting him. You release your hold from your blanket, letting it pool around your waist. Your skin seems to glow underneath the sunlight, every curve is a fascinating sight to behold.

Tugging his briefs down to the middle of his thighs, Eren breaks free from his confinement, his cock slapping against his stomach. You swallow hard at the sight.

“It's—That’s not—this isn’t eight point three inches,” you stammer, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

He turns pink. “Umm, yeah. I might have gone… too far with my marketing strategy.” He tries to play it off as a joke, but his nervous chuckles betray him.

But no, he’s getting it wrong. It’s not that he’s shorter than 8.3 inches. He seems to be… bigger than that.

And he’s so— “Thick.”

“Sorry, what?”

“N-nothing.”

Taking a deep breath, you rip the package open and roll the rubber down his length. Eren watches you with his heart in his throat, so eager to have his hand on your head, playing with your strands but he knows he can’t. He won’t be able to control himself if he does it.

“Is this… your first time?” He questions, fingers itching to swat the bangs out of your eyes. He’s so jittery, and you look so pretty, he can barely function.

Sucking a dick? No. Having an 8.3 inches python in my mouth? Yeah. “It’s not my first time,” you answer him, curling your fingers around his member, attempting to soothe him with lazy strokes. You can see the muscles in his abs tighten at the slightest of your touch, your name almost slips past his lips.

Noticing his reaction, your mouth twitches in a smile. “Aren’t you getting too excited?”

“S-shut up.” His face is aflame. “It’s just—It’s been a while.”

“Been a while since you’ve got your dick sucked?” You chuckle, tightening up your grip just a little. “Or since you got laid?”

“Both—” He flinches. “Fuck—harder—”

You obey, holding him firmly in your hand. “That’s weird. I thought you’d be popular with that face.”

“I am, though. Can’t you see I have a whole gang of dead chicks chasing after me every day?”

It’s just so him to spit out a joke whenever his emotions are going haywire. Lowering your head, you enclose your lips around his tip, making him mewl in response. But the second you dart out your tongue, you pull away with a grimace. “What the fuck is that?”

Eren breathes out heavily, both in relief—as he didn’t think he was ready to have your pretty lips wrapped around his cock just yet—and disappointment. “Umm… My dick?”

“No, I know it’s your dick, genius.” You roll your eyes. “I meant the condom. It tastes like shit.”

“You don’t like butterscotch? It’s pretty popular among women. And some men, I’m sure.”

“You want to taste it yourself?” You offer monotonously. “I can wrap the condom around my fist and you can suck on it if you want.”

“No thanks.”

“You sure? Condom is pretty stretchy, I’m sure it’ll fit.”

Eren sighs, looking defeated. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Nope, I’m doing it. But this is gross, so—” You roll the condom off his cock, tossing it away to the floor. Eren watches with wide eyes when you gather him in one hand. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you take him into your mouth.

“Jesus—fuck,“ he gasps, placing his hand on your head in reflex. You’re so warm, so fucking warm it sends fire coursing through his blood. You’re surprisingly eager too, angling your head to the side as you hold him securely with your hand. Your tongue traces over the pulsating vein, moving down to gently suck one of his testicles before you head back to his length. You moan when you get a hint of his pre-cum, slapping his cock against your tongue to get more of it.

You tilt your head up, fascinated by his expression—his half-lidded eyes, his parted lips, his chest heaving up and down. Seeing him crumble under your hands makes you feel bold. You can witness how much effect you have on him, how sexy you look in his eyes and it makes you want to provide more—to serve him more.

Eren’s grip around your hair tightens when he feels your tongue pressing against his tip, just teasing him with a few kitten licks. When the muscles in his abs start to unwind to the sensation, reeling in your soft touches, you begin to suck hard without warning, making his hips buckle forward.

“You’re so sensitive.” Every peal of your laughter reverberates through his skin. You engulf him once more, your words muffled when you speak. “Does it feel that good?”

“Y-yes, I—holy shit—” Another suck, right before you take him into your mouth as much as you can. Eren throws his head back with a loud groan erupting from the back of his throat. He sounds so sexy—so raw and guttural, unlike how angelic he appeared when he praised you earlier.

You’re unable to take him all the way to the hilt but you try your best. You swallow around him, making sure to not choke around his length as you breathe heavily through your nose. A train of expletives is sprouting out of his mouth, his words incoherent just like his thoughts.

When you slide your mouth away, you close your lips prettily around his mushroom head, moaning, “You taste way better than butterscotch.”

Eren flinches, feeling the knot tightening in his stomach. “P-please don’t do that,” he pleads.

“Do what?”

“Moaning like that.” His blush blooms quickly. “It’s… It’s too much.”

You break away, replacing your mouth with your thumb pressing against his tip. “You don’t like my moans?”

“It’s not that—” His hand tugs hard on your roots when you dig your nail into his slit but he retracts it as soon as he regains a little bit of self-control. “It’s just… You’re so sexy when you do that, I can’t handle it,” he confesses. “Ah, God—if you keep doing it like that—you’re gonna make me come.”

The way he says those words… God, you want him. You want to drive him to the edge only to pull him back in. You want him to do whatever he wants with you, and do whatever you want with him.

His eyes never leave yours, enthralled by the sight of his cock disappearing little by little in your mouth. He pushes the bangs out of your eyes, biting the corner of his lip while unconsciously pushing your head down to take him deeper into your mouth. You love the way he’s so dazed, hissing and moaning at every little ministration you do.

“Shit, Princess, can I move? I just—I want—”

You know what he wants and you allow him to. Affirming with a nod, you close your eyes and let your jaw hang loose.

He moves his hips, slowly at first as if he’s afraid of breaking you but when your eyes speak reassurance, he groans lowly, picking up the pace. He’s so… heavy in your mouth, so hot and alive. Your eyes begin to water when his tip hits the back of your throat and while most men would pay little attention to it and will continue until you protest with words, Eren immediately pulls away. “Are—are you okay?” He sits on his heels, checks your face, and wipes the tear away with his thumb. “Was it too much? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“Eren.” You twine your fingers along his wrist, smiling feebly at him. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. We both know I’m stronger than that.”

He blinks twice before he melts, showcasing the same tender smile. “God, what am I going to do with you,” he says, talking more to himself. Eren’s gaze softens and he kisses you in the gentlest way someone has never done to you before. You hate to say this, hate how excessively sentimental your mind can be at times like this, but it does feel like butterflies are crawling in your stomach when he gathers you in his arms, murmuring your name against your ear.

It’s slow and innocent but it doesn’t take long before the purity disappears once he snatches a new condom from the box. He tears the package away with his teeth, placing it around his length with no problem. He strokes himself, his dick hefty in his hand. Settling between your thighs, he rubs his tip tentatively against your outer lips. “Can I… May I?”

He’s so cute. “Please.”

Inhaling sharply, Eren pushes in.

The lube helps to soothe the pain away but he slides in so slowly, murmuring, “Fuck, how are you so tight,” under his breath and you clutch your arms around his neck. The thought of him being inside you finally sinks in your head. Him, the man who you’ve repeatedly told yourself to not get attached to, is touching you in places he shouldn’t have, connected in places he shouldn’t have.

He examines your expression, looking for signs of discomfort. You give none. He pushes harder this time and you can feel the exact moment when he’s sheathed deep inside you. He’s stretching you out so nicely, making you feel so full. His hot breath fans the side of your neck when he sighs, “It’s so… hot inside…”

His hips sway with shallow thrusts, being so cautious, it’s frustrating. “Does it hurt? Want to stop?”

“No.” You lift your legs, wrapping them around his hips, bringing him even closer. “Faster,” you murmur against his ear, your fingers resting on his shoulder. “I want to feel it, Ren. I want to know how good it feels when you fuck me.” Your lips are moving on their own, forming the words before your mind can filter them properly. You realize just how embarrassing it is when you hear them out loud but when you see his face, you feel like you don’t care.

Eren is losing his mind.

And he snaps.

His vocabulary leaves him blank, solely focusing on granting your wish. You expected him to be rough, you just didn’t think he would be this rough. He pushes your legs forward, bringing your knees to your chest until you gasp. You’re being folded in half, his nails digging into the supple skin of your thighs as he rams himself deeper, abandoning all control, and fucks you like you want him to. His biceps flex as he pins you down, beads of sweat sliding down his chest to his stomach after a minute passes by with him plunging himself deep inside you with no steady rhythm. It just feels like he’s thrusting faster, and faster, and faster.

He pulls all the way out, his cock hard enough for him to slide back in without the help of his hand. Every pound knocks the air out of your lungs, every push almost makes you cry out his name so wantonly. He keeps your legs spread apart, your ankles on each side of your head as if he’s testing your flexibility, wanting to know just how far he could go until you break apart.

Eren is vocal, beautifully so. He’s not necessarily loud, his moans are deep and guttural. He doesn’t form any line, doesn’t even say “Fuck,” or “Oh, God,” like you do. But with every drive of his hips, you could hear a little, “Ah,” that departs from his lips, sounding so sensual and satisfying that you can feel his pleasure coursing through your own veins.

You’re being pushed forward, body squashed against the headboard. Eren stands on his knees, placing both hands on the wall behind you and letting you rest your heels on his shoulders. He slows down his pace but he adds more force that you can feel your entire body move with one slam of his hips. You can’t speak, he doesn’t even let you take a second to refill the air inside your burning lungs. He continues to rock his hips until he meets a certain angle that makes you shudder. Only then does he curse in an undertone, his voice so husky and unpolished, almost like a growl. “Do that again,” he says and you’re too dazed to know what he’s talking about. So he decides to take control, hitting the same angle and leaving you with no choice but to clench your walls around him just like you did earlier. He thrusts hard, over and over, pumping with a ferocity he’s never felt in his life. Possession. White-hot need. Pure animal fucking.

“Eren—” You gasp out, feeling your orgasm building up. “Eren, fuck, slow down—”

It’s as if you’re trying to mouth out the words as you drown, your words never reaching his ears. He flips you to your stomach, his chest flushed against your spine. You’re whimpering into your pillow as he takes you from behind. “Shit, Eren, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, do it,” he growls against your shoulder, his movements turning erratic. “Come on my cock, I wanna feel—ah, fuck—”

Orgasm hits you both almost at the same time, your body convulsing and gasping out his name. Eren has his vision dimmed and his ears rang, emptying himself in the rubber that separates you and him, wishing it didn’t exist so he could fill you up with his everything.

For a few seconds, you both stay in the same position, trying to catch your breath. Eren is the one who makes the first move, applying tender kisses on your back and nape before he reaches over your shoulder to slant your lips together. Your heart races at the sudden tenderness, loving the way he calls your name. “Give me a second,” he says, sliding himself out of you, and jumping off the bed to toss the condom away. When he returns, already dressed back in his underwear, he has the same face that he always makes after you survived a fight—worried with his forehead creasing. “Are you okay?” He tucks your hair behind your ear. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not in that way but I think you broke me a little,” you let out a giggle as you turn around to your back. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“I’m sorry.” His lips brush against your forehead. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Yeah. Didn’t expect you as the type who’d go feral in bed.”

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“No, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I liked it.” You send him a timid smile. “I… would love to have you do it again actually.”

Colors were drained from his face a few seconds ago, and now he’s redder than ever. “What, like, now?”

“Well, not now, are you planning to kill me?” His chuckles are sheepish, warming your heart. “Where did all that strength come from? If you were always that brutal during fights, these zombies wouldn��t even dare to come near us. Hell, they might as well file a restraining order just to keep themselves safe from you.”

You expect him to be smug, but all he does is turn even more bashful. “Yeah, I… I snapped.” Then he flinches when he lies down beside you. “And I think I just pulled a muscle too.”

You burst out laughing. “What, seriously?” He nods with a grimace, letting his head fall on your chest, snuggling close to you. “Oh my God, Eren, you’re hilarious.”

“Perhaps we should take it slow next time.”

“Okay, Grandpa.” Still grinning to yourself, you embrace him back, stroking his hair like a mother soothing her child. Then, you remember something.

Eren stitches his eyebrows together when he feels you patting his head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you head pats,” you answer, “Good boys deserve head pats.”

Quiet contentment spreads through him. “Am I being a good boy?”

“Oh, you’re being the best boy right now.”

He nuzzles the tip of his nose against your skin. "I'm glad," he giggles.

Now that you’ve both grown quiet, your attention finally returns to his iPod. It’s been playing music non-stop but you can only concentrate on hearing it now. “What the hell is this song?”

“Wet-Ass Pussy by Cardi B.” You can tell he’s growing sleepy by the way he speaks, slurring out his words.

“Do I want to know why you have a song called Wet-Ass Pussy on your iPod?”

“My cousin Zeke used to borrow mine. I guess he put some songs there.”

“And you like it.”

“There's some whores in this house,” he sings like a drunken man. “I said certified freak, seven days a week.”

You laugh, almost in the way you’ve forgotten how to do. “Oh my God.”

“Wet ass pussy, make that pullout game weak, woo—”

“I think that’s enough.”

***

“Holy shit,” Eren gapes, eyes barely unblinking the seconds he steps inside the mansion’s garage.

“Right?” You grin in satisfaction. “Can’t believe we’re so lucky.”

Standing strong before you is a brand new Ford Endeavor, painted jet black with blacked-out accents all over the SUV. Even in its original form, it’s already a highly capable vehicle that can handle rough terrains without a doubt, but this one is highly modified, looking fully intimidating on the roads with X glide roof lights and aftermarket projector headlamps.

“Look at how huge those tires are,” you comment in awe. “We can literally just run them over and flatten their faces with those wheels.”

Of course, yeah, normally that would be the first thing you’d think about when you search for a car to use in a post-apocalyptic world. You’d need it to protect yourself first, and to travel second. Unbeknownst to you, however, Eren is thinking about something else. Something that has nothing to do with zombies and everything to do with you.

“Hey, pervert,” you give him a light punch on his shoulder and he blinks his eyes twice in surprise. The blush that already spreads on his face only turns a shade redder once he catches you glaring at him. “Please tell me you’re not thinking about us having sex in the backseat.”

“I—” He did. Hell, he’s still thinking about it. Probably won’t stop anytime soon either. It just comes so naturally, making him feel like he's a thirteen-year-old boy going through his puberty all over again. The car is huge enough for him to imagine how it would feel to lie down across those leather seats, his hands plastered on your hips, your body bouncing on his lap. It’s just perfect—it’s been his fantasy for so long. He never had sex in a car before, and he had only had sex with you once. He thought spending a night together with you would satisfy his curiosity. It didn’t. It only made him crave for you more, made him wonder how it'd feel like to hold you in different positions, in different places, in different situations. He wants to try everything, wants to have everything. But that, he realizes as he notices the way you’re throwing ice daggers with your eyes, can wait. Right now, he needs to explain himself.

“It’s—” Flustered, he stammers, “I wasn’t thinking about that—I wasn’t thinking about anything at all, especially not about your bo—” He almost faints. If he didn’t catch himself in time, he knew you’d kill him. “It’s a nice car,” he finishes terribly. “I, uh, I’m gonna go and… grab our things.”

He strolls away, returning to the mansion with his ears burning bright and his hand rubbing his nape. Weird, you ponder, your eyes drilling a hole into his back, he wasn't acting like that this morning.

Last night, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms right after you both reached your ecstasy. Eren woke up before you, his heart rate immediately rose to a hundred beats per minute at the sight of you sleeping on his chest, using his biceps as your pillow, and his arm as your blanket. Not even in the sweetest dream, he thought he’d spend a night cuddling with you, especially not in the world where the dead wandered in the night. But there you were, sleeping soundly, looking so blissful as if you were ten years younger, with only homework and school grades to worry about. Eren couldn’t feel his arm but he didn’t care. He would stay paralyzed for life if that meant he could have you snuggling close to him like this, sharing body heat, exuding more warmth than the heater could offer.

But when you stirred slightly in your sleep, he began to panic. What was he going to say? Hi, hello, good morning? No, that would sound so awkward. And with him having his breath caught in his throat like this, it would definitely be awkward. I watched your face when you were sleeping, you look so cute. Great, not only did his line sound corny, it also made him look like a fucking creep—although, in reality, he did watch you sleep. He would do that again, a million times more if he was given the chance.

Before he lost his mind on trying to figure out what to say, Eren surrendered with a sigh. Gently rolling you to the side, careful so he wouldn’t wake you up, he stole a kiss from your forehead, blushing to himself as he did it and slipped himself out of the bed. He took a shower—a cold one for some reason—and he went to the kitchen to find something for your breakfast. Pieces of broken plates were still scattered on the floor, making his cheeks warm yet again at the recollection of what happened yesterday: you sprawling on the dining table with his body between your legs—

Stop it, you idiot, he chastised himself. You’re not going to get a boner again.

He checked on the top drawers, rummaging through spare containers and bowls. Both of you were starting to run low on food. Maybe it was time for you to move to another house too. The mansion was nice—felt even nicer to him now after what happened last night—but if he stayed—

“There’s a lake house.”

“Fuck!” Eren jolted in surprise at the sound of your voice, the glass jar he was holding in his hand slipped from his fingers and crashed against the marbled top, shattering into pieces. Trying to balance himself in reflex, he accidentally landed his palm on the counter, hissing in pain as soon as a sharp piece of glass punctured through his skin.

You rushed to his side with a shout of his name, careful not to step on the broken plates. You took a hold of his wrist, grimacing at the sight of a fresh wound that coated the lines of his palm with crimson. The cut wasn’t long nor too deep but it would take a moment for the injury to stop gushing out blood if it wasn’t treated properly. “What are you doing exactly?” Heaving a sigh, you tugged him gently by the wrist and guided him to the sink. You cleaned his wound under the running water, your touch so tender it was almost like a mother washing her baby’s hand. Eren stared at you from the side, feeling his happiness expand immensely inside his chest at the way you furrowed your eyebrows in concern, empathizing with his pain as if you had the same cut inflicted on your skin. You were wearing his shirt and nothing else, as it was big enough to cover your body down to your thighs. You seemed so small, so frail, and there you were, taking care of him like you’d been doing since the day you met him.

You found a clean cloth to daub over the wound, pressing it gently to stop the blood flow. “Wait for me on the couch,” you told him, tucking some loose strands behind your ear as you examined his wound, making you look even prettier and more feminine in his eyes. “I’m gonna go find some bandage, so it won’t—”

Eren’s lips found yours, his body went autopilot, succumbing to his yearning. His uninjured hand sneaked around your waist, drawing you close until you were chest-to-chest. Your height difference forced you to stand on your toes. The kiss was chaste, lips simply brushing against one another, but it had the effect of a first kiss—one that felt like magic, as if you were meant to meet, to share, to touch, to give, and to take.

When he pulled away, only giving a couple of inches of space between your lips, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. Eren wasn’t any better, his stomach twisted and turned in a way that felt strange but surprisingly addicting. “Thank you,” he murmured, and you thought scarlet looked perfect on his cheeks. “For taking care of me.”

You could feel his shyness rub off on you, warming your face. “You’re being dramatic.” You averted your gaze. “I literally just washed your hand. It’s not—”

He lowered his head once more, his hand moving to your nape, slipping between your strands where you could feel his fingertips brushing against the skin. His lips pressed a little firmer against yours, a little longer and you pushed him away. “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you mumbled, face constricted in concern. “I must smell like—” His hand found your face now, holding you still as he leaned for another kiss. You allowed him but you kept your hands on his chest, not letting him take a step forward. You broke the kiss, shaking your head even though your lips still hungered for more. “Eren, just give me a sec and let me—”

“Not letting you go,” he husked. Lifting your body by hooking his hands on each side of your waist, he placed you down on the dining table. He spread your legs, settling himself between them as his mouth latched against the side of your neck. You shuddered, unconsciously resting your fingers on his nape and he let out a low moan, still feeling so sensitive even when you had done it so many times last night.

The little towel he used to cover his wound was tossed on the floor. He slipped one hand underneath your shirt, fingers squeezing your breast. It was only when he winced and retracted his hand that you noticed blood was drenching his palm, running down to his elbow.

“Oh my God,” you stared in horror. “Go to the couch.”

“It’s okay, I can still—”

“Now!”

You sounded like a mother sometimes, and it made his heart leap in joy and anguish at the same time. The way you chastised him, the way you glared at him when he was being stubborn, and the way you handled him with care, you reminded him of her. Of Carla. And he thought it would make it hard for him to breathe, make his body feel like dying, but you gave him strength. He wasn’t scared of remembering his mother anymore. He started to learn how to focus on the happiness his mother gave him, instead of the final moments of her death, or the knife he plunged inside her chest. Looking at you right now, he could only remember the way his mother loved him, and it painted a smile over his lips, one that resembled Carla’s.

“What?” You asked, sitting on the coffee table as you wrapped a bandage over his hand.

“Nothing.” He timidly chuckled. “I just… I’m so glad I asked you to tie me up that day when we met.”

Your frown only turned deeper. “Again, what?”

“No, because it led us to this,” he tried to explain. “If I had just walked away and left you alone—if I hadn’t insisted for you to come with me, we wouldn’t be in this position. We crossed paths but we wouldn't stay in each other's life. And I wouldn’t have known how…” The strength in his voice started to waver as he grew embarrassed once more. “…good it’d feel to have you in my arms.”

You tightened the bandage around him, probably a little too tight than you were supposed to. “Stop saying corny shit.”

Your mouth formed the words but your face was the complete opposite of what you were saying. Eren could tell you liked it. When he showered you with praises, when he stole a kiss or two, when he showed his gratitude and his affection toward you, he could tell you loved them all. You were just too shy to admit it.

“There,” you said, resting his treated hand on his lap. “Now try not to move too much or it will start bleeding again.”

“Okay, Mom,” he grinned. “I think I heard you saying something about a lake house earlier.”

“Yeah.” You returned the rest of the unused bandage to your emergency kit. “You said you wanted to live somewhere near the lake, right? I know a place. It’s fourteen miles away from here. We can reach there if we keep driving south. My parents used to take me there to swim when I was a kid. It’s a small lake, surrounded by woods, but it’s very beautiful. I’m sure we can find a nice house to stay in.”

“A lake house, huh?” He leaned his back against the couch, still staring dreamily at you. His mind wandered on its own, already coming up with sceneries of you and him sitting together near the lake, sharing blankets and kisses and wonderful stories about the future you could have together. Only at times like this, Eren could forget that the world was ending.

He was so transparent about it, you almost laughed. “Right, I’m gonna go take a shower. You can continue to drool in the meantime.”

That snapped him out of his daydream. “Maybe we should postpone our leave till tomorrow? My hand hurts. I can’t fight like this.”

“Said the guy who was eager to fuck me on the table literally ten minutes ago,” you snorted, and as he choked, you tossed him a smirk. “Don’t worry, Princess,” you mocked him, “I’m strong enough to protect us both. You just sit still and look pretty in the car, okay?”

He pouted. “You can get too cocky sometimes.”

“It’s not cocky when you’re just telling the truth.”

That conversation happened five hours ago. Once you had finished taking your shower, you were occupied with doing your task, packing everything you could carry—every food and beverage you can find, toiletries, utensils, even a few bottles of wine. Eren’s responsibility was making sure that the jeep was working well. He was slower than usual, working with only one hand but he managed. His effort was completely wasted, however, once you found a new Ford sitting in the garage. You felt dumb for not thinking about it sooner, but it wasn’t too late.

Eren still acts a bit jittery around you, unsure how to face you. You might think that there’s something wrong—maybe you said something out of line?—but the truth is, he’s just too embarrassed to meet your eyes because every time he sees you, he feels like he wants to touch you. Maybe just intertwine your hands together. Maybe share a kiss. But he knows that once he does it, he’ll remember how beautiful and sultry you looked lying down on his bed last night, gasping out his name with your fingers clawing against his back, and then he will just… do what he did to you in the kitchen this morning. He wonders if it’s weird for him to feel like this, or whether he’s the only one who feels this way, but it’s normal, isn’t it? It’s normal to feel this way seeing how long he’s been wanting to lay his hands on you—but that’s not just it.

He loves you. He’s so in love with you that he feels naked when he’s standing in front of you, worried that you’d figure out how he feels, and be disgusted by it. Because Eren isn’t sure how you feel about him yet. Do you want to keep this relationship strictly physical? Do you want it to be more? You told him you were okay with being his girlfriend but what does that even mean? You looked so nonchalant when you said it as if it didn't matter if you two were lovers or not. All these questions and Eren hasn't found a single clue to answer them. It’s driving him mad.

With your help, he managed to place four different suitcases in the car compartment, along with a few plastic bags filled with mineral waters that you could grab anytime. His harnesses are tightly wrapped around his thighs, filled with spare magazines and spear point knives while his handgun is secured in his holster, hanging around his belt. “All right, then, let’s go.” You swirl the car keys around your finger and he reaches out to grab them. With your quick reflexes, you pull your hand away. “Oh, no, no,” you smirk. “I get to drive.”

You aim to look pompous but to his eyes, you only appear mischievous—slightly seductive, even. He sighs wearily, too tired to deal with those dirty thoughts again. “Fine,” he says and you frown.

“Geez, okay, no need to pout like a baby,” you snort, tossing him the car keys. “There. You can be a man for a change. Just don’t blame me if your hand starts bleeding again.”

You’re getting it wrong but Eren doesn’t correct you. He’ll take every chance he can get to prove that he’s a man who can drive and protect you and take care of his lady like he’s supposed to. He’s done having you babysit him. It's time to show you how masculine he is. “Yeah,” he snickers, taking a seat behind the wheels as you ride shotgun. “I’ll show you who wears the pants in this relationship.”

You only roll your eyes.

He starts up the engine and waits for a little bit for the car to warm up. As he waits, he wears back his fingerless glove on his uninjured hand, the leather feels tight on his skin. Resting his hands on the steering wheels, he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, thinking. “Wait, actually, I’ll just be a man until we get to our new house. After that, you can babysit me again 'cause I like being spoiled.” He showcases his boyish grin. “When we’re in bed, though. That’s when I will—”

“Just shut up and drive.”

But as you spin your face toward your window, you smile to yourself. He seems like he’s getting a little bit of his old self again.

***

“Dude, check this out.”

Even without taking a glimpse of your face, he can tell you have a puckish grin written on your lips. “What?” Eren replies, maintaining his eyes on the road.

You reach up your hand to reach the panel above your head, pressing a button with your index finger. Almost immediately, the shade cover above you slides open, letting the sun shine its light through the glass and bathe the interior of your car with a yellowish glow. “We’ve got a panoramic sunroof?!” He almost shrieks, jaw hanging slack as he’s baffled with joy.

“Even better.” You push the same button again, and the shade cover slides even further to the back, almost all the way to the compartment. “And for the final touch.” You shift your finger to the side, hovering above a new toggle, and with a click of your pad, the sunroof disappears. No glass separates you from the wind that caresses your windows. The autumn breeze ruffles your hair, sunlight dances on your skin.

“Holy fucking shit.” Eren has the expression of a five-year-old going on his first school trip, can barely keep his mouth closed. “This is too good to be true. What did we do to deserve this?”

“Maybe God is trying to make it up to us.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“Well, if He’s giving me a badass monster truck with a panoramic sunroof, I guess it won’t hurt to start believing now.”

It’s rare to see you this gleeful, and your happiness radiates through him too. “I hope our luck won’t run out,” he beams back.

“Not as long as you have me.” You toss him a wink. “Face it, buddy, I’m your lucky charm. You can’t live without me.”

You say it as a joke but Eren agrees wholeheartedly in his mind. Ever since he met you, his life has only gotten better and better. Just like you, he has his own secrets to tell, demons that he has to fight, and the burdens that he has to carry for the rest of his life. You fear the night; Eren fears solitude, as it is when he is alone that the sin he tries to forget begins to take form. If you weren’t with him, he would’ve probably given up on his soul months ago. You, yourself, are the reason why he’s still breathing. To live through each day with you is the reason why he still stands tall and strong even when the whole world crumbles. To him, there would be no life—

“No life without you,” he finishes out loud, mumbling under his breath as he's spellbound by his thoughts.

“What?”

He straightens his back, clearing his throat. “Nothing.”

The wind strokes his hair as he drives through the highway and he’s glad that you’ve tied it in a bun this morning. With one hand on the steering wheel, he keeps stealing glances at you as he drives. You’re slouching on your seat, leaning against the leather upholstery with aviator sunglasses sitting low on your nose. His other hand is resting on the gear, doing nothing as he maintains the same constant velocity. He wonders if it’s okay for him to lay his hand on your thigh. He’s always wanted to try that. It feels like it’s such a lover's thing to do, and now that you’ve agreed to be his girlfriend, he’s only eager to experience everything that lovers do with you.

But how? Should he just casually land his hand on you? What if it’s too low and you miss the point? What if it’s too high and you get the wrong point? It’s stupid that he has to ruminate over trivial things like this but when he’s with you, nothing seems trivial. Even just a brush of your pinky feels intimate to him and it makes him nervous. You, with that endless charm oozing effortlessly out of you, make him nervous.

“You can just do it, you know,” you break the silence, almost causing him to veer his car abruptly.

“H-huh?”

“Your hand,” you clarify, only making his heart beat faster. “You can just touch me instead of looking constipated like that.”

For someone who’s planning to do something romantic, your words do not help him at all. “I was just worried you wouldn’t like it.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Cause, like,” he procrastinates, “I don’t know, you seem awkward whenever I touch you so suddenly. Or when I do nice things, when I compliment you. I mean, I thought you were just shy at first but now, I’m just worried that I’m… making you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable.” You lower your head, fiddling with your fingers on your lap. “It’s just… I’m not familiar with it.”

“With what? Being touched?”

“Having a boyfriend that treats me like you do,” you admit with fire biting your cheeks. You push your sunglasses to your hair, watching the world expand before you without a filter. “My ex-boyfriend—Jean—he wasn’t like you at all.”

It’s your first time revealing anything about your romantic life, and as much as it brings elation to him for giving him the chance to know you better, Eren can’t keep his mind steered clear from jealousy, especially when you seem like you reflect on the days with regret. “Not trying to be a dick,” he snorts loudly, “But Jean sounds like something I’d use to name my horse.”

You chortle. “People did call him Horseface from time to time. I don’t know why. I think he's quite handsome.”

"Yeah, right."

“Had a horse cock too, that man.”

“Jesus, I don’t need to hear that. Bleh.” He sticks out a tongue, making you giggle even more. And just like that, everything that unsettled his heart starts to diminish. “Okay, so tell me about this Jean.” There’s mockery in his voice whenever he enunciates his name but there’s no poison in it. “Tell me how terrible he was so I can revive my self-esteem for not having a horse cock like he did.”

You can make a whole PowerPoint presentation to assure him that he also has a horse cock but you don’t. “It’s not that he was bad, he was just… casual, you know? Like we went on a date, grabbed some food on our way back to the dorm, had sex in his bunk and that’s it. He never held my hand when we walked home, never hugged me just ‘cause he felt like it. We were together for almost a year, I think, and he never, not once, stayed the night at my place—or let me stay the night in his place. We laughed but we never cried together. We talked but never really talked, I don't know if that makes sense. I don't think I’ve ever told him the things I told you. My favorite color, my favorite song, my dreams, and nightmares. Or the fact that zombies don’t freak me out but ghosts do."

Your rambling saddens and cheers him up at the same time, knowing that even if the world wasn’t ending, he would still have a special place in your heart. Does that make me a bad person? Eren wonders. "Why not?"

"'Cause he never asked."

"He was an ass, then," he mutters. "If I were him, I would've asked you millions of questions to know you better."

"That's probably gonna be annoying, but all right."

Eren smiles but only to mirror yours. You seem sad in his eyes, a bit lonely and repentant. Ignoring the ache in his heart that starts to burn like acid, he asks, “Did you love him?”

“I think I would’ve if things were different,” you confess, fixating your gaze on the way your thumb is rubbing against the lines of your palm. “Sometimes I wonder if it was my fault—if it was because I never opened up to him. I’m not used to being comforted, or showered with affection. I had a strict family who criticized every little thing I did, so I’m more used to getting insults instead of praises. I tend to avoid people who are nice to me. I feel like they can’t be trusted. I keep thinking that they want something from me, something I most likely can’t give. And the second they find out about it—the second they realize that I’m just… me—I’m afraid they’ll start to leave.”

Eren sneaks glances at you whenever he can but keeps his head facing the road. “What if they don’t leave?” He queries. “What if it turns out they don’t want anything from you and they’re here with you because they love you?”

Your smile is cynical. “You think I deserve to be loved?”

You deserve so much more, he answers internally. “Everyone does.”

“Even after what I did to my sister?”

He almost hits the brakes. He didn’t expect the conversation to drift that way. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“I did what I did because I was a coward. I could’ve just walked away.” You close your eyes, leaning your head against your seat. “I tied her up to a pole, Eren. Even if she had turned into a zombie, she wouldn’t have been able to hurt me.” Your fists are clenched on your lap as the memory resurfaces. “I didn’t have to kill her,” your voice quiets down to a whisper. “I shouldn’t have killed her.”

Eren can’t take it any longer, not when he can hear the crack in your voice. Stepping on the brakes, he parks his car in the middle of the road. He shuts off the engine, and you open your lids, angling your face to the side to meet his gaze.

“I don't know how to make you feel better,” he confesses with regret. “I wish I could, but I think this is something for you to work out on your own, because no matter what I say, no matter how much I try to stop you from blaming yourself for it, you'll continue to do so until you can find the strength to forgive yourself.”

“It’s okay,” you cast him a weak smile. “I'm sorry I keep bringing this up, you don't have to comfort me about it. I'll be fine.”

Eren stretches out a hand to push your locks behind your ear. It’s something that he likes to do, you notice, both as a way to comfort you and to indulge himself with your beauty. “I won’t say I know exactly how you feel,” he softly speaks. “But I know how it feels to be consumed by guilt.”

You circle your fingers gently around his wrist. “What happened to your mother wasn't your fault.”

“I wasn’t talking about my mother.”

That stops you. “What?”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily before he returns to his seat. His eyes turn vacant as they land on the concrete that stretches out endlessly before him. “There was this guy I met in college. We weren’t as close as I was with Armin but I thought of him as a friend. His name was Marco—we took psychology together during our first semester. He was a nice guy.”

He casts his gaze downward, witnessing the quivers that run through his fingers and he balls his fists to stop them. “A few days after the outbreak,” Eren recalls, “I was going through this neighborhood, trying to find another survivor. I hadn’t slept in what felt like forever, too afraid to do so at night. So one day, I laid down on the grass, basking myself in sunlight to be safe and I fell asleep. When I woke up, the sun was almost down and I panicked. I hadn’t found a place to hide. So I ran to the nearest house, my hands were shaking so hard, I wouldn’t have been able to take a proper aim even if I had to. Luckily enough for me, the house was empty—or at least… I thought so.”

You listen intently, not waiting for your chance to speak up. His hands lay rigid on his lap, and you wonder if holding it between yours would make him feel better. Eren continues with his story before you can come up with a decision.

“Not half an hour later, they started to wander the streets,” he continues and you feel your heart drop. “I could hear their voices. I could hear them snarling. I hid inside a closet, knees to my chest, hands against my ears. My gun was right there beside me but I knew I wouldn’t use it against them. Had they entered the room, I knew I would’ve used it on myself. It would’ve been much easier for me to point the gun against my head, than to aim and miss. I would rather die with a bullet through my brain than have my skin peeled off one by one.”

You could relate to it. It was something that had crossed your mind many times before.

“I could hear their steps, slowly at first, feet being dragged across the pavement. Then suddenly, they started to run. And I was so afraid because I knew they were advancing toward the house I was hiding in. I could hear the front door being kicked open. I could hear a woman’s voice—she was screaming, then she was crying, and then… she was quiet. I had my palm over my mouth, my heart in my throat. Make one sound and you're dead, that was what I kept thinking to myself. Just one noise coming out of my mouth, one creak of the wood underneath my feet, and I would die. I thought I was ready to kill myself, but I couldn’t. I was just so… afraid.”

You take his hand. You don’t think anymore, you just do. He seems like he truly needs it.

Eren is stunned before the solemnity on his face melts into a feeble smile. “So you’re not used to being comforted but you like to comfort other people?”

“Only you,” you speak truthfully. “I only do this with you.”

His stomach flips but he immediately tries to focus back on the topic. He’s grateful for the way you squeeze his hand, reminding him that he’s in the present—that he’s with you now, safe and sound. He laces your fingers together, resting them on his thigh.

“Their snarlings turned faint, and I realized that they had walked away,” he reveals. “I was safe, I really thought I was. But then a man walked in, hugging his arm to his chest and dripping blood all over the floor. He was so careful with his steps, so quiet—even my breath was louder than his movements. He was smart, cautious. From the gap in my closet, I kept my eyes on him. He spun his head around, looking straight at the closet and I swear, our eyes met. I realized it was Marco but I didn’t feel relieved. I was still in shock to process everything. I saw him reaching out his hand toward me. He probably didn’t know it was me, but he knew someone was hiding inside. I was too terrified to move, and I probably couldn’t even if I tried. Help, his mouth seemed to say but I didn’t have time to be sure. A Darkseeker suddenly appeared behind him. It was in the shape of a teenage boy but it was fast, stronger than two men combined. It tackled him to the ground, baring his teeth and I stopped breathing. Marco was lying on his back, the Darkseeker was sinking its teeth into his shoulder, ripping out his skin, but he didn’t make a sound. He just kept looking at me. Help, he mouthed again. Help me.”

Your heart plummets to your stomach. He’s losing it. “Eren—”

“There was only one of them,” he quavers as he talks faster than his brain could think. “I had a silencer on my gun, I had enough bullets to kill it even if I missed my first shots—I could’ve at least tried but I didn’t. Marco kept staring at me, waiting for me to make a move and I just watched him die. I couldn’t—”

Eren can feel his eyes—Marco’s chocolate brown ones, wide open and filled with dread, staring back at him. Then the mouth that begged him to help, starts to form a different line.

You let me die.

His breathing turns rapid. “I let him die,” he chokes out. “I let him die. I let him—” He abruptly tears his hand away from yours. Tremors run through it before he clutches all ten fingers around the steering wheel. He starts to hyperventilate, coughing and gasping with his head hung low, feeling nauseous from the memory of Marco’s gruesome death spiraling through his mind.

“Eren.” You lean over to his seat. “Eren, hey, look at me.”

You could’ve saved me but you didn’t.

You could’ve killed me with your bullet to end my suffering but you let them rip me apart flesh by flesh.

You just sat there and watched.

You let me die.

Eren isn’t listening to you. Marco’s voice in his head is louder than the rainstorm. You cup his cheeks with both hands, calling his name and begging him to focus on you. His eyes are shaking when you lock your gazes, but no matter how fast your heart throbs, you keep your expression calm so you can guide him to do the same. “You're okay, you just need to breathe.” You teach him how to inhale and exhale slowly. “Follow me.”

He’s trembling hard, heart rate increasing fast. “I can’t—” He rasps, his fingers clawing against his chest. “I can’t breathe—”

You pull him into your embrace, your fingers slipping through his strands. “Listen to me,” you say, your voice steady and soothing. “I will count to ten and you will count with me, okay? One… Two…” You keep going, one number at a time and he tries his best to focus on it. By the time you reach seven, he starts to imitate, his voice not louder than a croak. When you’ve reached ten, you can hear him refilling the air in his lungs. His body still quivers but he can finally breathe.

You kiss the side of his temple before you let your lips linger on his shoulder, waiting patiently for him to stop shaking, never letting him go. Eren doesn’t cry. He’s always one to bite back his tears and that’s probably why he’s like this, his body begging him to release all his emotions at once. Another minute passes by and his strength slowly returns to him.

“What just happened?” He utters hoarsely, his temple glistening with cold sweat.

You wipe the beads away with your palm. “You had a panic attack.”

“I… did?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” It’s like his brain is working much slower than it used to, processing the information with his eyes blinking slowly. “I never had one before… It’s… kind of scary…”

You smile, your tense muscles uncoiling. “Yeah, it can be like that sometimes.”

Eren finds your hand again and you let him study your palm as he tries to gather his thoughts. “You’re my pills too, then…”

“I’m your what?”

“My pills.” He tries to smile. “You’re my, uh… My Naproxen.”

Then it clicks. “Xanax, you idiot,” you rebuke playfully. “Naproxen is what I take for my cramps.”

“Right, yeah… I meant that one.”

You’re not sure who’s the first to break into laughter, maybe it was you, but you both trade giggles under shaky breaths. A moment passes by where you just stay close to each other, reminding yourselves that you're not alone. When he's returned to normal, Eren presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “Thank you…” he whispers, “For being my Naproxen.”

“Xanax.”

“I love you.”

“They don’t even sound similar—” You stop at once as if he just seized the words out of your mouth. A lump resides in your throat, one that’s impossible to swallow. “What did you say?"

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats and you still feel like the level of oxygen is thinning in the air. “I’ve been wanting to say it, but I was worried that you might not feel the same way. I know it would make us awkward but it's driving me insane.” He stops to draw a sharp intake of breath. “I don't have any other choice but to say it now.”

You wish the first sentence that pops up in your head is I’m in love with you too, but sitting there in your seat, with his beautiful forest green eyes perceiving you, the only thing you can think about is how?

How can you be in love with me?

How can you love me when I’m like this?

A vortex of emotions churns inside him—the thrill of having said his first confession, the joy of being in love, the relief for being able to express the words he’s been meaning to say, but fear overtakes him the most. He’s not afraid of being rejected. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way for him just yet. His only fear is that… you don’t believe in his words. He's scared that you doubt his feelings for you. That you feel like you don’t deserve to be loved, or forgiven.

And with the way you fixate your gaze on your lap, lip bitten until it’s swollen, and your hands clasping in a white-knuckled grip, you look exactly like that in his eyes.

“How can you…” You wet your lip. “How can you be so sure that you’re in love with me?”

He expected it coming, but it still feels like somebody drops an anchor on his chest when he heard the line. “How can you be so sure that I’m not?” He responds, sending your gaze to drift back to his face. “Do you think it’s too fast for me to feel this way about you?”

Your jaw set. “We just met for a few weeks.”

“Five months aren’t a few weeks.”

“You’ve only been with me all this time.”

“Are you saying that I wouldn’t have fallen for you if there was somebody else around? Do you think I’m in love with you because you’re the only person left in the world?”

“That’s not—It’s not that.” You exhale heavily, rubbing a hand over your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of your feelings, I just… I don’t know what to think…”

Eren’s gaze softens. He wonders if he’s been too harsh on you, too fast and forceful. He takes a firmer hold of your hand, his fingers resting on your palm, his thumb painting comforting strokes on your knuckles. “Do you feel happy, at least?” He questions quietly. “Me, telling you I love you… Does that make you happy?”

You almost crumble. “So much that it scares me,” you admit in one breath, not louder than a whisper. “You’ve always made me happy, Eren. Every little thing you did for me, I noticed them all and each time I felt so happy, I felt like my heart was about to break. This is why it feels surreal to me because you’re giving me even more joy and I don’t think I—” deserve it. Not when it’s this immense, this intense. After what I did, after robbing my own sister’s life with my own hands, am I allowed to live my life with you like this? To experience this much joy?

The silence stretches heavily in the air, just like the tension that strangles you. For once, you're too afraid to open your mouth, too distraught to find your words.

“Hey...” Eren kisses your temple once before he strokes your hair. “Look at me?”

You lift your head, staring at him with doe eyes that are misted thinly with tears. You didn’t think you’d feel this disconcerted that you’d begin producing tears.

“You know I’m not pressuring you to do anything, right?” His smile is almost angelic, softer than it’s ever been. “It’s okay to take time,” he says, “To process this. To believe in me. You don’t have to rush—Princess, you don’t even have to say you love me back. I’m just telling you this because I really do feel this way about you. You asked me why am I so sure about my feelings, and the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re supposed to feel when you’re in love, but when I read books or watch movies, this is how I imagine it would be to be in love with someone. Because otherwise, how can I explain the things I feel when I’m with you? I feel happy when you’re happy. I feel sad when you are. I feel my heart throb painfully when I see you hug yourself in fear. I feel so scared and worried when you’re not around. I miss you every second. I think about you every time I’m awake and I see you in my dreams every night. I don’t know how to explain any of that. To me, that’s love. And I’ve never felt like this before. That's why I don't know what else to do but to confess. I need you to know so I can let myself breathe.”

You're dumbstruck by his words, only peering back into his eyes with your lips parted. He kisses your nose, his smile turns playful and shy when he pulls away. "I hope that doesn't make me sound too selfish?" he chuckles awkwardly. "I'm just so crazy about you, I don't know what else to do. I'm an idiot after all."

Something crawls inside your stomach, like butterflies fluttering their wings, and you wonder if you've ever felt this flustered before in your life.

You try to break away from the fingers that caress your cheeks. Lowering your head, it feels like your face is catching on fire. “S-sunset is in three hours,” you stutter, “We should hurry up and find a place to stay.”

Eren doesn’t lift a muscle for the first three seconds and you’re worried if you’ve hurt his feelings. But he lands a hand on your head, stroking your hair. “Okay.” He gives you a sweet kiss on your strands before he returns his hands to the steering wheels, reviving the engine. "Well then, sit tight."

Taking a breath, he changes gear and steps on the gas. He keeps his hand on the stick as he drives. With a palpitating heart, you twine your shaky fingers around his wrist and you bring his hand to your lap.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Princess?”

“Just for a while,” you murmur, holding his hand between yours, reminding him of your warmth and how gentle you can be. “Let me hold your hand just for a while.”

With his blush blossoming on his face, and his heart falling even harder for you, he maintains his gaze on the road. “Okay…”

***

“Shit.”

Eren’s voice slaps you back to reality like a cold splash of water. You didn’t intend to fall asleep but it seems like you’ve waned off into your dreamland for a few minutes. With the autumn breeze gently kissing your cheeks, it was hard to stay awake, especially when the scenery on the other side of your window had been so dull, showing nothing but pine trees that seemed like an endless green ocean. Eren drove down the serpentine road without a word, just secretly humming a song to himself. He wanted you to catch some sleep whenever you could, as he didn’t want you to get exhausted (so, he claimed, but truthfully, he just thought your sleeping face was adorable).

The car has stopped, however, with Eren sitting stiffly behind his wheels, spinning his head to the side to exchange stares with you. “What are we going to do?” He asks, voice dripping with consternation.

Because just a few meters away from where you are, an overturned 18-wheeler truck lies in the middle of the road. There is no other vehicle in sight, so you assume there hadn’t been a collision. Most likely, the driver got infected when he was driving, and as the virus traveled fast through his veins, his body exploded from the inside and he crashed. That’s the good case scenario. The worst scenario is, he survived the virus, becoming another survivor just like you, but as he tried to escape, he was ambushed by them. Meaning, there would be Darkseekers nearby, possibly hiding in the woods, waiting for the moon to take its throne so they could hunt.

Either way, none of you want to step out of the car to find out. There’s something else you need to figure out, and you need to figure it out fast.

“Okay, let’s stop and think for a moment,” you say, sitting up straight on your seat. “We obviously can’t drive through, so we need to turn around and take a different path.”

“The sun is setting in one hour,” Eren reminds you with pressure in his voice, growing visibly nervous. “I’ve been driving down this road for an hour and a half, at least, and I haven’t seen any turns.”

“Yeah, there’s only one lane. If we go back to Aspen Pine, we can take a different route from there.”

“Aspen Pine was two hours ago. We can’t even reach there by sunset.”

“I know,” you agree defeatedly, your brain swirling fast to come up with different solutions. “There’s a pass we can take through the woods but I don’t think our car can get through. This is the only one that leads straight to the lake.”

“How far is the lake from here? Can you tell?”

“About two and a half miles, maybe?”

“Fuck, that’s too far. We can’t go there on foot.”

“We can make it if we run.”

“That’s too risky.” He starts chewing restlessly on his bottom lip. “What if we can’t get there by sundown? What if we get there but we can’t find a house to stay in? We can’t afford to be exhausted, especially not in a place we’re not familiar with. We don’t know how many of them are lurking around here.”

His agitation starts to rub off on you. “Okay, then we have no other choice but to turn back and drive as far as we can until we can find a new road to take. What worries me is that I haven’t seen any houses around here. We’re surrounded by woods.”

Eren nods. “Worst case scenario is that, if we haven’t found a place to stay by sundown, we spend the night in our car.” He doesn’t like the idea. No, he hates it, but what other options can he choose? “We’ll be putting our lives on the line but… With a little luck, we’ll survive this.”

Your hands clench into fists on your lap. You’re shrouded by guilt, regretting your decision. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “If I hadn’t asked you to come here, we wouldn’t have—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Eren leans in to gather your face in his hands, squeezing your cheeks together. He smiles, one that is just as calming as it usually was, even though you can feel the slight quivers that run through his fingertips. “You didn’t know there would be a truck blocking our way, it’s not your fault. And I wanted to stay in a lake house too so,” he kisses your lips briefly. “We can share the blame. Now, I want you to stop thinking about it and focus. You’re my lucky charm, right? Better start working on your magic, Princess.”

You try to smile back. “Okay…”

Landing a small peck on your forehead, he returns his hands to the steering wheels. With his jaw tightened, he turns the car around and steps on the gas, driving as fast as he could while making sure to stay cautious. You close the sunroof above you, your body perched rigidly on your seat. The evening sun casts long shadows on the ground. The slanting rays of the setting sun give a warm orange tinge to the sky. It’s beautiful, almost like a painting, but right now, it only reminds you of one thing: death.

“How many guns do you have?” you ask him as you keep your eyes open wide, scanning your surroundings, looking for a house to stay. So far, you’ve had no luck finding one. All you can see is pine trees after pine trees.

“I’ve got a shotgun in the backseat, two handguns around my belt, and a spare in my bag.”

“What about the bullets?”

“Each handgun has twelve rounds. I got three extra magazines.”

“Okay, good.” You breathe in relief. It’s not enough—even a hundred bullets won’t be enough—but it’s better than what you had expected him to have. “I hope we won’t have to use any of them.”

“Yeah.”

The clock is ticking fast, a thousand times faster than before. The sun is starting to sink below the horizon and your heart accelerates harder than Eren could drive the car. “Have you seen somewhere we can stay?”

“No,” you answer dreadfully. The concrete lane still stretches long ahead, there’s no road branch in sight. It will still take a while before you can switch paths, but even then, there won’t be enough time to reach the lake.

Giving up, Eren steps on the brake, slowly reducing your velocity to zero. Once the vehicle has fully stopped, he turns to you. “Grab everything you need from the trunk,” he utters, voice stern with apprehension. “We’re spending the night here.”

***

Next Chapter

Huge thanks to Sandra, Ben, Joli, Coi and Nissa for reading this for me beforehand and giving me their reviews. I love you guys so much ❤️

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mementomori-demimonde · 3 years

Text

Old Wounds

Hidden Scars: I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII - XIX - XX

Bonus Chapter (21):

Three years ago, you broke up with Miranda.

Or, to better say, three years ago, Miranda broke up with you.

After escaping Victor’s grasp and embarking on the flight headed to England, Miranda thought it was best for the two of you to be constantly moving around.

She easily procured fake IDs and documents and, as Mrs. & Mrs. O’Brien (so lame that you loved it), you checked in the most expensive hotels and made a mess of the room, only to be off the next day. Every bill was paid and the staff generously tipped, even though the money didn’t certainly come from your pockets as you didn’t have any: you found out it was fairly easy to transfer money around and trick the systems; at least all those hacking software lessons had proven useful, though you weren’t up to anything illegal - it was a matter of survivance, that was what you told yourself.

Life was wild and exciting, every morning you were someone slightly different while remaining the same, every night you got lost in the scent of her, only to be woken up by her fingers exploring your body.

Miranda was never satiated. And while it was only a matter of sex, before, there was something addicting, now, that flickered between the two of you.

It was something you thought was unbreakable. Something so rare to be born in such a hostile condition that it would be so hard to kill that nobody would even try to.

You thought.

Miranda lit up the day you reached Glasgow.

You could see her eyes gleaming, you could see her sharp fangs shining at the pale light of the sun as she dragged you around, showing you this and that, telling you about her childhood while turning a child herself, innocent and carefree and happy enough to be pulling you in and kiss you in the middle of the road.

You stayed in Glasgow for five months after that, because she thought you were both safe.

You decided to rent a small apartment next to the theater because, apparently, Miranda loved the theatre and you loved discovering things about her just as much as you loved watching her glow as she watched the show and the people acting or the orchestra playing.

You even convinced her to take yoga classes and, except for a couple of smashed glasses when she thought a waiter was ogling you, and an exploded pillow when her football team lost to the rigors, she seemed to have learned how to manage her anger pretty well.

Even her part-time job as a dog-sitter helped her keep her calmness, even to balance with the frustration she would accumulate during her other job as a consultant; of what, you never worked it out completely, you simply knew it was something to do with finance, probably internationally. Miranda didn’t like to talk about it excessively - the pay was good, she seemed satisfied with it - so you let her be.

As for you, when the first opportunity came out, you accepted it right away: as a receptionist of a luxury hotel, you had a fair amount of working hours, perfectly timed with Miranda, and you were able to bake breakfast for the both of you, pack your lunch boxes and be back before her to prepare dinner when Miranda didn’t surprise you, instead, with some take out and a lit candle.

She uncovered a nice, unexpected side of her, but sometimes she still was the scary old Miranda, even when it wasn’t necessary, to your opinion.

Whenever she acted bad, you served her a banana on a plate instead of a nice dinner you baked, to commemorate the first meal she had you eat. Miranda would pout, eat the banana in silence, and ask for forgiveness between the freshly cleaned sheets. This worked the other way around too, of course, with the exception that she enjoyed herself a little too much, sometimes, prolonging the punishment to something more than just a banana for dinner. Either way, everything was solved in bed. Not that you complained about this method, of course.

You thought you couldn’t be happier; but you thought you could never be any less happy either, and, of course, you were wrong.

It was a casual question you blurted out without much thought.

One night, you were watching a cheesy movie on tv, just for the fun of hearing her complain while she had her legs slung over yours, silently demanding for cuddles she would never admit to be requesting. As the couple on the screen kissed and cried happily, you said “have you ever thought about marriage?”

Miranda froze. You tried to explain that it meant nothing in particular, it was just conversation, but something in her eyes had changed.

She never answered the question.

Days went by and you could tell that something had painfully shifted between the two of you.

You tried to take it back, make her forget with some rough nights, just like she used to like it, but nothing worked.

Miranda wasn’t the same.

And then, one morning she was simply gone, without a single explanation.

After twelve days of waiting, you made peace with yourself that Miranda wouldn’t be coming back.

You started to hate everything you loved so quickly that even going out in the streets and hearing all those people talking Scottish made you sick, so taking the next decision wasn’t too hard, after all: you told Cecilia to mind the tabby cat Miranda pulled out a stray dog’s jaws and brought home for you to heal, vacated the apartment hotfoot and accepted the job as head manager of the hotel subsidiary in Rome, Italy.

After a few weeks, you realized the change was exactly what you needed: Rome was amazing, you like the people and, most of all, the food. You even decided to join a gym so you could keep eating the delicious meals the hotel chef cooked for the staff and when the weather was good, you went for a run, early in the morning, enjoying the sight of the city lazily waking up. Late in the night, before going to bed, you would flick your tear-drop-shaped dagger and put it in the top drawer in the nightstand, only to wear it the next day, because now you felt naked without its cold blade pressing against your leg. You dropped the habit of wearing it on your thigh - it wasn’t practical with your work attire - but strapped to your calf or pocketed inside your boot. You hated yourself for it, but it couldn’t be helped. You tried to convince yourself it was just in case you had to defend yourself - it was sensible since you had to walk by yourself most of the time.

All things considered, you fit in well.

Your apartment is good, with a nice view on the Tevere, the pay is almost double the one in Glasgow and you can allow yourself some treats, from time to time, whenever you feel too blue to stay in the apartment by yourself.

You contemplated the idea of getting a pet for a time, but you decided against it since that too would awaken sour thoughts.

You tried to date for a while, but nobody was enough.

Nobody compared to her.

Despite everything Miranda did to you, her memory was latched to your brain like a plague.

It still is.

Sometimes, only some heavy drinking can get her out of your head.

You weren’t on duty tonight, and while you’re coming back from a peaceful stroll, your colleague calls: there has been a great fuss in the hotel; he tells you about ambulances and police cars hurrying with the sirens blaring to arrest some psycho that attacked a woman in her room. A guy was shot, but you don’t register much about the events, nor do you ask for further information, eager to drop the argument and avoid some unpleasant memories rising in your mind. Guns, people attacking other people, blood… It’s all in the past.

Hurrying up the stairs and fishing in your purse for the keys, you barely notice that the door lock is slightly scratched.

You don’t pay attention to it, nor the way your key slides inside the hole, until you step inside your home, pawing at the switch, and the light doesn’t work.

Immediately, all your senses turn on, your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, your ears eager to capture the smallest sound.

It’s the hair on the back of your neck that puts you in alarm. Rising for an imperceptible breath of wind, they notify of the imminent danger.

The next thing you feel is a strong arm wrapped around your throat, and a warm body pressed against your back.

The attacker clearly knows what they’re doing, but you do too.

Everything she taught you is stuck in your brain, branded on your bones.

In a flash, you lift your dominant leg just enough to grab the knife.

You plunge it into your attacker’s thigh without hesitation.

She - it’s a she - grunts in anger.

The hold of her elbow softens, her arm slides from your neck, her body moves abruptly from yours as she limps away, leaving you alone and scared, but in complete control of yourself.

“My, my. I am getting sloppy.” The voice sends chills down your spine. It’s warm, it’s smug, almost amused, and familiar. Terribly familiar.

Your heart, despite yourself, throbs painfully.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes from your lips.

“Good.” She says, “very good, m’eudail.”

Whatever doubt you might’ve had, now it’s completely gone. It’s not your mind playing tricks, associating a familiar event with a lost person, this is happening for real. Running away from England to another country, taking a new name, a new identity, rebuilding your life almost from zero has served you nothing: she still has found you.

“Miranda?”

Three years.

Three years you haven’t heard from this woman.

Three years you’ve tried to push it out of your head.

Three years of pretending it was just a nightmare.

Three years and she’s back as if it’s nothing, standing in your apartment like she owns the place. She does, in a way. Miranda still owns you, in the first place, whether you like it or not: it’s not your choice to make. Until Miranda decides to let you go, you’re hers. It’s inevitable. And you know, you feel it in your guts, that Miranda will never let you go.

Some exchange rings, some jump over an old broom; your ‘until death do us part’ was a carving in the shape of an M - not on wood or marble, but on flesh - and you wonder how could she be so scared of marriage in the first place if she, too, has made a promise for life.

She comes into the light pouring in from the windows: it’s sunset, and the streetlight has just been lightened up.

Like it’s no big deal, you watch her bend down and wrap her fingers around the handle of the knife and, with a quick motion, she pulls it out from her wounded flesh with minimum bleeding.

With a wince, you notice that her trousers are already stained with dried blood, mixing with the fresh one.

She straightens her back and bares her teeth into a crooked smile, her split lip glistening with droplets of crimson. It looks painful. She doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Her cheekbone is blooming with blue and purple, her throat bears a sore line around. Miranda wears her bruises as if it was makeup, proud and confident. And, oh, so beautiful like the night before she left.

You can’t help but feel concerned, which only adds to your frustration: you shouldn’t care about her, you shouldn’t feel so strongly about the blood running down her chin - she probably deserves it, and more - but you do care.

You watch her, powerless, as she stumbles toward the couch and lets herself fall unceremoniously on top of it, grunting as her bruised body slackens against the soft pillows. Her shirt is stained as well, her knuckles scraped.

“You’re beaten up.” You dumbly point out.

She lets out a dark chuckle and lolls her head back. Your eyes are drawn to the rhythmic movements of her throat as she swallows. You can almost taste the iron inside your own mouth - how many times she’s kissed you after a training session, how many times your sweat mingled with hers when you wondered if you were fighting or fucking.

It all felt so long ago and, still, it hurt like it was yesterday.

“Tried my best, but you can’t expect the featherweight to win against the heavyweight without a significantly favorable weapon. He was just a bigger psycho than me: came out on top, in the end.” Miranda murmurs, a smug expression deforming her features. “Victor, on the other hand-”

The name has your head spinning. His ugly mouse-face comes to visit on the blurry surface of your mirror every time you shower, the rough lines crossing your back are a distant yet a painful reminder of those days of imprisonment, confined in that small room with Miranda, uncovering her past, her job, her boss and his despicable ways. Those marks hurt, but not as much as it hurts the one on your left shoulder - not until now.

“You’ve gone back to work for him?”

After all you’ve been through, after all the pain he inflicted, after she promised to have him killed because he took it out on you, Miranda decided to still work with him. Betrayal didn’t even compare to what you felt.

How many things can change in three years? You lived a lifetime in two months, since Miranda kidnapped you. Three years, right now, are an eternity.

Miranda’s smile drops. Her blue eyes wander aimlessly around the room, stopping in a dark corner. They aren’t focused, but it’s easy for you to see the regret blaring in her lost gaze.

“It was what I am,” Miranda murmurs, her voice emotionless, “it was the only thing I knew.”

There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you. It feels like forever before you move your first step toward the couch, your gaze fixed on her as if you were trying to control a snake about to snap its vicious attack.

You know Miranda won’t move, not to attack you anyway, but you’re cautious when you speak.

“You’re talking in the past tense.”

“He’s dead now.” Miranda breathes out heavily. Her voice almost overlaps yours, as if she’s completely zoned out, not listening at all, unaware of her surroundings, as impossible as it seems. “I killed him, gave him what he deserved.”

The sheepish look she gives you is the sparkle that lits your flame. It doesn’t matter if Victor is dead now, the memories still haunt your dreams, and Miranda has gone back to work for him.

You feel cheated on, betrayed, and you still don’t know what she wants from you. Frustration builds up from within until you feel like exploding.

You would smack her and shake her by her shoulders if she wasn’t so bruised - and if she’d let you, of course, before succumbing to her strong arms and be stopped by force.

“Miranda, why are you here?” You would ask her to leave, tell her you can’t stand her sight… if only that was true. Angered beyond words by her persistent silence, you walk to her with heavy steps, until you’re in front of her, for the first time, towering her small figure on the couch. She looks frail, harmless, submissive, but you know she’s not any of those things. “Miranda-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know how she’s managed that - if she’s pulled you down by the collar of your shirt, or hooked her fingers in your belt, or even hit the back of your knees with her foot - but you’re falling right onto her, like the controlled destruction of a building, collapsing right where the demolition expert planned. You try to catch yourself with one hand on either side of her head, fingers clawing the soft pad of the back cushion, even if it’s not necessary: of course, Miranda has caught you first.

Although ‘catch’ is not entirely correct. Her greedy fingers are grabbing your head, pulling more than supporting, and before you can realize what’s happening, her lips are on your mouth.

Oh, God, how much you missed her.

It’s not a nostalgic kiss, she’s not asking for forgiveness or awakening long-lost memories. Her lips are urgent, almost aggressive.

It’s like those three years never went by, as if a lot of things never happened: this one isn’t Miranda, but the mysterious woman who kidnapped you in the alley; she’s back to that unhinged creature that tortured you in the most pleasant ways, who turned a cage into paradoxical heaven where wrong was right and the pain was pleasure.

Too easily you fall back into the addicting spiral that bound you to her. You’re completely at her mercy, once again, with no power nor will to pull yourself out of it. Despite everything, you want more of her kisses, you want more of her touches, you want more of her, no matter if she’s rough or brutal - something of Miranda is still better than nothing.

Hungry hands travel fast from your face to your neck and, for a moment, you prepare to hold your breath thinking she will wrap her fingers around your throat to have you squirm in her lap, desperate for air, just to assert her total control, but you’re wrong. Miranda doesn’t stop: she paws possessively at your breasts, teasing your nipples through the coarse fabric - you hate a little how your body seems to react regardless of your mind, answering to her touch in all the right ways.

You always take minutes to remove your uniform, Miranda hasn’t taken more than one to leave you in your undergarments, confused and wondering if you were actually wearing something before she claimed ownership over you and your body, like always, like she was entitled since the beginning.

Her mouth travels fast, in tow, she nibbles and lavishes, sending electric sparks to your core.

You don’t dare speak, afraid that the spell will break, that you’ll wake up from a dream even though you don’t remember falling asleep, even if it feels real, so real, almost too real that you can’t bring yourself to renounce it.

The tip of her nose tickles the valley of your breasts when she kisses her way down your stomach and belly, her nails scratch dully at the small of your back, pulling your knickers down in one move.

You’ve never noticed how chill your apartment can be. Or maybe you’ve never been so hot before, within these walls.

Her mouth knows exactly where to tease you, her tongue touches all the right places and only in the right ways. Her body remembers everything, and at the same time, it feels new. She tastes you, pursuing the depths of you, almost as if she wants to drown right there and then.

Bare and vulnerable, you don’t even perceive the typical powering position on top of her; Miranda is always on top, also when she’s not.

You can only arch over her as she draws a hurried orgasm out of you, leaving you raw and trembling, your mind spiraling from contentment, nostalgia, and a deep sense of guilt and then back again, when her tongue doesn’t stop until she isn’t satisfied with a second climax, and a third.

It’s easy to lose count when Miranda is having her way. It’s easy to get lost and losing track of time and of yourself, it’s easy to set aside everything to chase her with your hips, desperate for everything and in everything.

She doesn’t allow you to catch your breath when she’s done. You barely catch a glimpse of her when she pulls away, working her jaw to relieve the soreness that has surely set in her muscles, but her eyes are elusive, disappointing you when you hoped to look at her and find the woman you know.

It’s just another confirmation that she is still somewhere else, at least in spirit.

You’ve learned to know her strength, despite her petite size, and yet you can’t prevent the surprised gasp that escapes your mouth when she pushes you off of her and into the couch on your front, so fast that you gape at the pillow below.

You struggle to adjust your head and tilt it to the side when you feel her climb on your thighs, her ripped legs grabbing yours with vicious force when she lowers herself, and despite being fully clothed, you can feel the heat from her core right below your bottom, where she sits.

You swallow in anticipation, shiver when her nails rake at your skin, and then, then everything stops. She pauses.

You feel all the tension leave the room like the fog lifting from the streets.

Her legs are looser when she shifts lower on your thighs, her hands are softer when she glides her fingers up the small of your back and they linger, for a moment too long, across your shoulder blades.

You want to say something, even say her name again, listen to your own voice calling Miranda while still striving to breathe, wearied by the pleasure her skilled tongue has brought you. But as soon as you take a small breath to speak, a startling weight on your back knocks the air out of your lungs.

You take a moment to comprehend that Miranda has leaned on the top of you, her chest rises and falls rhythmically against your back, her breath tickles your left shoulder and you blink at the fact that her cheek is probably resting on her carved initial, and not just by chance.

You mentally count three seconds in, three seconds out. Her warm breath sends shivers down your spine.

“Had to find you.”

It’s a murmur, barely a whisper, so small you even doubt you heard it for real or just in your head.

“What?”

You try to squirm from below, eager to watch her face, read in her eyes if she’s making fun of you in the cruelest of ways or not. Her voice has tricked you on many occasions… or not. Maybe it was her eyes. Maybe it’s better for both of you if you can’t cage into each other’s eyes.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, relax your muscles, stop your hands from scrambling in the purchase of a steady surface to push yourself up and Miranda off of you.

It’s better this way: she won’t talk, otherwise.

“Thought I could do it.” She sighs, her lips move on your skin, leaving a moist halo around her lips. “Thing is… that I could.”

“You’re talking about-”

“Glasgow.” She snaps. You feel her clenching her jaw tight. “When we lived together.”

“You’re scared that you could live normally?”

Silence.

“You don’t understand.” She huffs. “People like me can’t usually walk away whenever they please and forget about their pasts.”

“But you did.” You retort. “We were fine.”

Miranda chuckles. It’s a bittersweet one, and it ends quickly.

“I was doing fine before you came.” She clarifies. It clarifies nothing, but you don’t dare to interrupt, fearing she’ll just walk away for good. “There’s a reason why so many have failed. No one was able to ruin me while I ruined them. No one was you.”

You can breathe easily now that Miranda has rolled off of you.

You turn to your side quickly, eager to follow her with your eyes and make sure she won’t take the door and never come back after such a declaration. Rare have been the times you’ve heard Miranda talk in such ways and you can only imagine what is the prelude for: something fatally bad, or something impossibly good.

In the forced darkness of your apartment, the blue of her eyes glows at the dim reflection of the streetlights.

Her voice echoes in your head.

When you initiate the kiss you’re surprised she doesn’t pull back. She doesn’t even complain. She doesn’t grab your face or the back of your neck, she doesn’t claim the lead.

It’s startling, and it’s a foreign sensation you’re not used to, at all.

You barely register the soft rustle of fabric as you chase her taste and mingle it with yours.

And then finally you feel her hands on yours, her slender fingers reaching for yours and sliding almost perfectly in between, like pieces of a puzzle.

She swallows your breathy moan.

You haven’t expected your hands to be drawn closer to the warmth of her body. She lets her fingers move to your wrists, she lets them loop around the protruding bone there - she doesn’t squeeze, she doesn’t pull nor push - leaving your pads free to roam over her stomach, through the small crack of her shirt, gliding over the taut skin of her abdomen. You feel new bumps, new scars perhaps.

She squirms when you push a little too hard against her hip bone.

Or, maybe, she doesn’t exactly squirm.

You feel her adjust, raising her pelvis off the couch, but not to ease discomfort.

Your fingertips slip easily beyond the band of her high-waist trousers.

Miranda doesn’t move.

She’s even stopped the kiss, letting you decide.

It’s an open invitation - a request, perhaps - to touch her, properly, like you’ve been asking, for weeks, silently, before you decided to voice your thoughts and your feelings.

Everything went downhill from there.

Your breath catches, the long-awaited moment feeling so terrifying, now, that you can’t bring yourself to just stop thinking and follow your guts, your innermost desires, to claim what has been denied to you for so long.

Miranda wouldn’t have hesitated. She didn’t hesitate to take when she wanted and could.

Thing is, you’re not her.

You pull away from her in a blink, your fingers tingle with unsatisfied electricity when you hide your face in your hands.

“Miranda.” You growl. Your voice comes out muffled from behind your palms. You’d want to yell at her, berate her, but it only comes out desperate, you sound on the verge of crying. Maybe you are. “What are you doing?”

Her hands are touching your wrists again. She’s gentle. More than she’s ever been. She forces you to unpeel your hands from your face.

In the dim light from the streetlights, her eyes shine again. They seem full of unshed tears, but you don’t want to fool yourself with dull illusions that don’t belong, with every possibility, to either of you.

Miranda doesn’t talk. You know it, you can see it, there’s a whole universe of things she’s dying to say, and still… she doesn’t speak.

You let out a shaky breath, sit lower on her legs, your gazes locked.

“Miranda, what’s your point?” You try again, softer this time.

She opens her mouth to speak then, only to close it soon after with a frustrated sigh.

You can’t endure more of it. You’re too spent to keep playing.

Miranda speaks only when you push yourself off of her, trying to stand up.

“My point is- I’m done.” She huffs out a disbelieving chuckle as if it’s the first time she’s told that, to herself even; the first time she’s truly grasped the idea and made it final. “I’ve got tons of money now and I can leave it all behind.”

“Miranda-”

“We can leave it all behind.” She corrects. One of her hands slithers to the small of your back, pushing you down to keep you near. It’s confident but for the first time, somehow, it’s not possessive. “Start over, for real.”

You swallow a mouthful of sand. Your head is spinning. You even wonder if something has possessed Miranda’s body and has turned her into some normal person who is actually repentant and is willing to start over.

How much can a person change in three years? Does it also apply to Miranda? The rules of mortals apply to such mysterious creatures like her?

You’re about to ask for a moment when you hear a distinct mew.

“What the fuck-” You startle, snapping your head toward the kitchen. It’s hard to see, but there’s definitely something on the counter. A box, maybe a crate. With something furry poking out. “You brought the cat?!”

Miranda’s lips are crooked into a sheepish smile when you look back at her.

“Please?” She whispers. Her voice is velvety against your lips, so close you could answer with a kiss. “What do you say?”

Maybe you will answer with a kiss.

Maybe.

#miranda croft x reader #miranda croft #tfa #the flight attendant #fanfiction #reader insert #ao3 #archive of our own #bonus chapter #complete #four lines #hidden scars #old wounds #michelle gomez

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