#I’ve reread this thing so many times | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rockingbytheseaside · 1 month ago

Note

Hii!! I love your writing sm like you’re literally my go to blog when I get bored and I end up rereading your fics 😋. Not sure if you have rules or anything so idk what I can and can’t request (IF YOU DO AND THIS ISN’T IN LINE WITH IT I’M SO SORRY.. 😭).

Could I request the harbingers crushing on reader? Like I can imagine them being slightly more lenient with reader which confuses most of the soldiers. Again feel free to ignore this 💗‼️‼️

(giggling and kicking my feet rn, this is the type of partially-satirical fluff I headcanon. Hope you like it)

✦ When they secretly have a crush on you

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

✧ The ever-cold and impeccable Pierro – a mystery that even his associates and top harbingers cannot decipher. Not many can be considered as his close confidants, so none is certain of his personal life and preferences. A cold, stern man like The Jester probably doesn’t waste a glance on frivolous affairs or pleasantries. Even if many high-status people tried to approach him - aristocrats, business partners, or noble ladies; his cold gaze shuts off any initiation for close relations. No, he sees their greed for power too clearly to be swayed.

Yet Pierro harbors a deep secret. He does fancy a type… and that type is you.

It’s not simply your physical attributes or style, his ‘type’ is literally everything you embody. The shape of your jawline when you lower your face, the delicate shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks, how your chest moves when you take a deep sigh. From the minor and inconsequential attributes, he memorized it to his heart until the only thing his gaze is seeking is you across the room. He was always silently enamored, his eyes watching you with reverence. However, he is a mastermind, first and foremost. Concealing his inner sonnets for his love for you came naturally just as he conceals half of his face with a Khaenri’ahn mask.

You, on the other hand, were oblivious. Nervous, even. Facing off the most powerful man, cursed with immortality just as you all those centuries felt intimidating, especially when you couldn’t grasp why his gaze kept lingering so melancholically.

“It is… good to see you again, Pierro,” – that was your initial words when the two of you spoke formally. In truth, your mind was filled with wistful thoughts: he probably settled down with someone after 500 years of immortality.

In the meantime, Pierro’s mind was at comical odds with his cold exterior as he thought: Hmmm… Yes, I’ve already decided on the name of our potential third child.

But of course, he didn’t say that, even if he looked slightly mesmerized. Instead, he just settled with a polite: “A pleasure, indeed”. It's only a matter of time before he accidentally slips and calls you his spouse in front of people.

✧ Il Capitano was avoiding you like the plague, and you couldn't fathom why. Whenever you crossed paths, his oppressive silence would intimidate you further. He would linger behind you, a looming presence so quiet that at times, you’d forget he was even there. Alas, when you finally muster up the courage to approach him directly, he'd respond with the briefest of words, avoiding any attempts of chatter.

It infuriated you. So much so that you started wondering if perhaps you did something wrong. He sparred with you countless times, the taste of a battlefield is nothing foreign when he trained alongside you. You felt like a stranger. Why he was so eerily silent was beyond your comprehension, and alas, his pitch-black expression did not portray any facial clues on what he was thinking.

The truth of the matter is that Capitano has mastered the art of keeping his head impassively still. With a helmet on his face and lack of visage, no one sees his gaze ogling your form whenever you train. Your movements mesmerize him during battles, your legs swift and your stance is powerful. Of course, he would be silent when he is staring directly at your beauty in action. You rendered him speechless, and now the Harbinger is diverting himself by discreetly peeking at you. Thank the archons for his helmet hiding his gaze.

But the Captain scolds himself. No, he mustn’t! It is improper of him to even lay his eyes upon a being so diligent and strong as you, he must respect-… Nope, his head is automatically turning towards you anyway. Lost in his silent battle of self-reprimand, he didn’t notice you suddenly approaching:

“Captain, we need to talk. What is the reason for your cold shoulder towards me? If I have done something improper you must tell me… You always avoid me, even when we’re supposed to cooperate.”

The same characteristic silence followed him, however, seeing you cornering him so sternly, even the Harbinger had to drop his resolve.

“...You must forgive me. Your beauty had overwhelmed me to such an extent that I felt ashamed to admit how you rendered me speechless to approach you.”

✧ A long time ago, before Il Dottore bore the title of a Harbinger, there was a young boy named Zandik. This little Zandik was trainee Dastur, a prodigy of his field and academic year. But he wasn't the only top student of the Akademiya, in fact, this young man was standing in the shadow of a brilliant senior student whom he always looked up to with innocent wonder – you.

You weren't aware of the younger student with short turquoise hair trailing you. He, however, was aware of you because your portrait often graced the accomplishments of the establishment, thesis research, and any academic honors of the top young researchers. Since you were a senior, Zandik couldn’t share lectures with you, yet it didn’t stall him. Every thesis bearing your name, he read; every book you borrowed from the House of Daena, he memorized meticulously. His revenant studies of everything you did mesmerized his young mind, leading him to linger behind the lecture hall doors, drawn to where you so often spent your time.

It was a harmless habit, the boy believed; surely you never noticed him?

One day, Zandik spotted you chatting with your peers in the hallway. Unfortunately for you, you inadvertently left behind your precious notebook, forgotten in the rush to your next class. The young man didn't have it in himself to run after you and directly return it. Instead, it was his chance to study your secrets. His hands hesitated only briefly before he grasped the notebook, feeling the weight of the handwriting he so admired.

When he first opened the notebook, the first page read in massive writing: “I KNOW YOU'RE STEALING MY NOTES – THIEF.”

That was approximately 400 years ago. So much so that the memories of your student self were long forgotten in your mind. When you later on met the 2nd of the Fatui Harbinger, you expected the Fatuus to coerce you for cooperation. To demand you to leverage your expertise in Khaenri'ahn technology, or perhaps blackmail you into his maddening cause. But none of that transpired.

The grown man, now known as Il Dottore, stood blankly in front of you, eerily placid. His once youthful awe had matured into something far more inscrutable, like a long-buried sincerity breaking through his Doctor’s mask. Without a word, he extended a hand, offering you an old, tattered notebook. It was that same old notebook from your Akademiya days.

“... Huh? Where did you get this?”

“Perhaps a young boy was too excited to pilfer what wasn't his. I apologize for borrowing it. That boy never wanted his idol to think of him as a thief. If it wasn't so arduous to seek you out all those centuries, I would've returned it to you earlier.”

✧ With his face perched on his knuckles, Scaramouche sat down listening to your ramblings. You would think a Harbinger with his temper, would long since exhausted his patience, waving you off to scram from his presence. Yet the moment you start talking, he is obediently listening, like a devoted man waiting for his blessing from the Grand Narukami Shrine

“But I never saw you enjoy any snacks or drinks while you’re out,” – you mused with excitement, launching on a tangent about this mysterious Inazuman beside you. “Oh! How about this, I’ll start guessing your favorite pastime food or beverage and you tell me if I am right or wrong.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, but crossed his arms indifferently - “A futile endeavor but suit yourself anyway.”

Undeterred, you accepted the challenge. You listed each and every single delicacy in Teyvat that you could recall, from Inazuman mochi, dango, and sake to even Mondstadt’s Cold Cut Platter and wine. The Balladeer only scoffed, amused at your silly attempts to deduce him, as if he was some mystery you should decipher.

“Ugh, Okay! My last attempt. Is it… green tea?!”

Scaramouche went silent at the sight of your anticipation - “Hm,”

“No way… did I guess correctly, at last! Are you a herbal tea enthusiast? Oh, I knew it, I knew it!”

You exclaimed with unattained joy, leaving the Balladeer to silently observe your self-proclaimed victory. The truth of the matter is - that wasn't the correct answer. Scaramouche doesn't care for any teas or snacks, not when his artificial palettes found human indulgences to be redundant. Yet, looking at your jubilant face, glowing with delight as if you’d uncovered some profound world secrets, he couldn’t bring himself to confess. How foolish.

“Hah, fine, you got me. You must be thrilled to guess something so mundane.”

“Well, maybe mundane to you, but I was pretty curious what a living puppet would prefer to drink.”

Your sudden words caused Scaramouche to freeze. He never told you he was a puppet by nature, and most people would never guess what he is. Yet here you were, stating it so simply and obviously. Most ridiculously, you didn’t seem crestfallen by the weight of this truth. “You knew…? I'm not sure if I should compliment your keen observation, or if this is another one of your random guesses. What gave it away?”

“I thought it was obvious.” - you eased a sincere smile, your hand reaching to carefully brush a stray hair on his head. “No regular human would have such a perfectly pristine face like yours. Even if they had the most luxurious face-care routine.”

If puppets had blood flow, there would've been a pink hue dusting his cheeks. It seems he was the fool here after all. Ever since that day, he has found the taste of green tea to be rather soothing.

✧ A popular misconception about Pantalone is that he allowed you to walk into his life and pursue him so easily. Trully wrong. In reality, it was this Harbinger who had been pursuing and courting you from the very beginning - like a lovestruck fool, no less.

At first, Pantalone tried to be the charmer. He’d offer you heavy bags of Mora as if it was pocket change and say in his best alluring voice - “Go spoil yourself with something new, dear. I want you to look your best on our next date.”

The issue was you were dense like a rock. Because you blinked at the mora and said simply: “Why? I already have comfortable clothes, I don’t need any right now.”

He wanted to slap himself. Any attempts at spoiling you with riches or gifts were futile, especially when you humbly rejected his monetary help out of casual practicality. You always stated that others in need would require it more. Very well, he won’t sulk just yet. He decided on his next act of refinement. He’d invite you with him to any luxurious events: galas, opera performances, dinner parties; all carefully orchestrated to impress you, showcasing how he can provide you with any wonder from the world, linking his arm elegantly with yours to flaunt how you’re accompanying the 9th of Fatui Harbingers himself.

That didn’t work as well. Whenever a business meeting occurred with vital connections, your gaze bore no interest in the wealth of the higher class, nor did you beat around the bush to dismiss yourself. Instead of marveling at the company of riches and endless champagne flutes, he’d instead find you marveling at the ducks swimming in the pond of a garden – “Look, duckies!”

Pantalone was in visible distress. All this gold that people die for yet you so naively dismissed him. Was he unworthy of your simple love? Was he too pompous for you and forgot his own origins? His self-doubt gnawed at him at night, so much so that his own subordinate would see him pacing in his office with a tremor of restlessness, thinking how he should open this topic with one he so openly treasures.

“My dear, please tell me what your heart seeks,” – he once opened the discussion with you, his hand clasping yours in an act of pleading. “I do not wish you to be uncomfortable with my actions. Just say the word and I will bring you what you want.”

Once more, you blinked at him in that same sweet innocence, but instead, you spoke with a smile: “Oh, you silly, silly man Pantalone. I never wanted your mora or status. I do not wish to be indebted to you, no. I just wish you to be as you are. If you want to take me to a restaurant, take me there, not because it’s a fancy establishment, but because it has your favorite food. Plain and simple.”

The young Harbinger didn’t know it was possible to fall in love even more. It seems he mistook your humble sincerity with naivety, never once pondering that perhaps you didn’t want a partner for the sake of connection or money. That being his true self was something he could even offer you.

In the upcoming days, Pantalone’s subordinate could clearly see was smitten beyond logic or reason. Like a grinning child, resting his chin on his palm when sitting behind a desk, feet almost kicking with excitement. He really was enamored with you from the start.

✧ If there is one thing Tartaglia’s heart relishes, it’s the rush of a challenge. And you, as a whole, challenged this young man on a daily basis. His bubbling persona and eccentricity to rush into action was an antithesis to your blunt calmness and reason. If he is the one launching into battle, you are the one who is yanking him by the collar while maintaining that unimpressed look.

Thus, as a challenge, Childe took it upon himself to make you break that serene attitude from you. At least once, and his heart will soar with victory. Unbeknownst to him, everything he did fumbled.

He started with cheesy attempts to flirt with you, flipping his ginger hair back while leaning on the wall with a captivating smile to make sure your eyes were on his form alone. It might have made you swoon, if he hadn’t miscalculated and leaned against the door instead, stumbling awkwardly when it swung open.

Another attempt was made when he tried to play the savior. The two of you were strolling when a Hydro Hilichurl Rogue stumbled upon your path in the wild, its makeshift scythe warning you two to get away. For the Harbinger, this was an easy opportunity to dispel such a puny target and save you. Except the Hilichurl Rogue kept throwing hydro slimes, which his vision of the same element was useless against. You managed to drag Tartaglia (almost) unscathed.

Everything was going against Tartaglia’s luck and he felt like an utter failure in front of you. He’s the 11th, for crying out loud, he always fairs well when something challenges him. Yet here he is, getting bandaged by you after fumbling countless times in your presence. Your first impression of him must be beyond salvageable at this point.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you’re a problematic teen who gets into trouble all the time. Because you sure act like it,” – you stated to him simply. Securing his cuts and bruises on his shoulder.

“If I confess that such accidents rarely happen, would that change your opinion of me, or is it too late to start from zero? Ouch-” he winced when you tightened the bandages, his bruises not alleviating the sensation. The culpability of it all made him sulk, realizing he was probably putting you into trouble with all his shenanigans. “I’d die for you, you know.”

“That is the dumbest thing I've heard.”

Your words were concrete, his gaze averted with guilt and sorrow. But you continued quaintly.

“Why would anyone say something so senseless? I don’t want you to ‘die’ for me or anyone, even. What about ‘keep living’ for someone? For me… for your family, for yourself. Anyone can blindly plunge themselves to their death, but it takes actual courage and strength to keep living for those you care about. So please, do that for me instead of getting into trouble.”

The once serious expression on Tartaglia's softened with each word you spoke. Now he realizes that perhaps you putting up with his impulsivity stemmed not from frustration, but out of sincere worry. Maybe in his attempt to charm you, you were the one charming him all along. Especially when you sit so close to tend to him, it would feel so natural to wrap his arm around and embrace you.

“You’re right… I suppose it is reckless. Living for yourself seems truly priceless if it means seeing you beside me for another day.”

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emmyrosee · 1 year ago

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Kita shinsuke gets confused after you start dating.

It’s not like it’s been a long time, far from it, but you felt so comfortable in his everyday life that he stops thinking too hard about your interactions.

You reach for his hand, he takes it. You shiver, he gives you his jacket. You’re hungry, he shares his snacks.

He gives you a compliment, you… hate him?

You must. There it is, in capital letters under his own blue text: OFBEOD KITAAAA I HATE YOU FRRR😭😭

His heart races as he rereads the text over and over again, unsure of what he could’ve possibly said to have you say ‘I hate you.’

Whatever it is, he needs to find a way to apologize.

The idea of upsetting you in a way he barely understands is concerning, it makes him extremely saddened, and he picks up his pace to get to practice.

He’s sure there’s someone there that can help him decipher your distress.

Leave it to the two twins, tying their shoes in sync, to be the first ones to notice his stress.

“Kita-San?” Osamu asks, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” atsumu continues. “You’re late- you’re NEVER late.”

“And you look like you’re about to upchuck.”

Lovely.

“Osamu, Atsumu,” he says, breath shaky as the twins turn to look up at him. “You’re… familiar with relationships, yes?”

“Well he’s been single since birth-“

“HEY!”

“-but I’ve got a little bit of knowledge. What’s up?”

Kita gnaws on his lip before he passes the phone to the grey haired twin, showing him your sudden outburst of hatred towards him. Osamu quirks a confused brow as his eyes glaze over the text, the blonde twin quickly popping on his feet to peer over Osamu’s shoulder to read along.

Osamu flicks his eyes from his phone up to Kita, “what am I looking at?”

“She hates me,” he says, a frightened lilt in his tone. “And I don’t know what I do. I don’t know what I did,or said, or how I can fix this. And I…” he takes a breath in to calm down, “I need your help.”

Osamu stays silent for a bit, and atsumu cracks a cheesy smile, “cap… you didn’t do anything.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t do anything- this is just… how some girls act,” osamu explains, and kita feels his cheeks warm up from the sudden crowd that’s gathered.

“Are we teaching Kita-San something now?” Suna teases, peering over Osamu’s shoulder to read the message. “Teaching him about giiiiiirls.”

And shinsuke wants to say something back, about how he knows girls and he doesn’t need to be taught anything…

But maybe he does.

Osamu takes a small breath in before passing his captain’s phone back to him, “sometimes, girls are just… uhm….”

“Aggressive?” He asks, and Akagi chuckles behind him.

“No,” Osamu hums thoughtfully. “I would probably say more… excited than guys, and it makes them kinda wanna… be… ferocious?”

“Feral?” Suna chimes in.

“Buck wild?”

“How about all of the above,” Aran says easily.

Kita quirks a brow, “so she doesn’t actually hate me?”

“No! She’s just excited that you complimented her, I think.”

“Yeah Kita-San,” Atsumu chuckles. “Girls only say they hate you when they love you; that’s like. A thing.”

“They also bite,” Akagi cuts in. “For… some reason.”

“They BITE?”

“I’ve been smacked so many times,” Aran playfully laments, and Shinsuke’s head whips towards him, only to make the ace shrug, “what? She’ll get excited to see you, or something good happens, and she just. Smacks your arms. It doesn’t always hurt.”

“What do you mean ALWAYS!” Shinsuke is suddenly extremely nervous about whether he received a girlfriend… or a pitbull.

“Or she’ll bite you,” Suna hums.

“Or says she hates you,” the twins circle back. At seeing their captains new nerves, they rise to their feet to clap him on the back.

“You’ll be fine, cap,” the blonde assures. “It’ll catch you by surprise, sure.”

“May be a little painful,” osamu snorts.

Atsumu snickers, “but you’ve liked her for a long time. And if it’s too much, you tell her to stop.” He nods before turning on his heel and mumbling a soft ‘hell knows you’re good at that,’ under his breath.

The conversation makes Shinsuke… convinced. He’s sure that there’s minimal that you can do to upset him, even if these methods of love lean far into the unconventional. He gnaws at his lip as the crowd disperses, golden eyes glazing over the contents once more.

He cracks a small smile, taking a soft breath in and letting his fingers take over typing and saying everything he could want to say in just a few words.

SENT I love you, too :)

You reply with an absolute jumble of words and praises, capitals and random emojis. He smiles before planting his phone in his bag and heading out to practice, feeling it buzz more than a few times in his pocket.

Maybe a few well intentioned bite marks wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him.

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dashiellqvverty · 2 years ago

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the thing is in my brain throam is genuinely very good in many ways but also i haven’t read it in years and it very probably is Not

#the THING IS #the reason i like it so much and my affection for it has endured #is because it’s SO distanced from reality that it truly feels like just an original story with rpf inspiration for flavor #like i have never been big on rpf fic. just the shipping and lore part.#but THAT STORY #i was simply genuinely invested #i have thought about rereading it again so many times but i haven’t yet. i’ve started. but i haven’t gotten far.#anyway regardless of whether it’s as good as i remember i do firmly believe that #if we as a society have to continue publishing rewritten fanfic & rpf as original fiction #then it is one of the strongest candidates out there bc. like i said. the story is SO elaborate and original #like the side characters aren’t meant to be ‘in character’ to the people they’re based on they just use the names for flavor #and the authors notes acknowledge this up front and i APPRECIATE that #it’s just such an elaborate and fleshed out au that it doesn’t feel weird in the way rpf usually does to me #idk #that aside. after all this time it does still make me crazyyyy to think about regardless of how good it is #r.txt

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tempobaekh · 28 days ago

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A Love (Not) Torn Apart

pairings: daryl dixon x fem!reader (takes place in alexandria)

warnings: not much, fluff, crack, alcohol consumption, some shouting, maybe ooc daryl? the images at the top DO NOT indicate any physical appearance of the reader

a/n: i’ve been meaning to write something for this fine ass man for a while but I’ve been having a major writer block and busy with my junior hairdresser exam BUT i stumbled upon this post by @angelwings-crossbowstrings and i just had to turn it into a story. also i’ve been binge reading and rereading all of @dixons-sunshine works. she’s an amazing writing with enjoyable writing and also gave me some motivation to write something🤍 anyways this had me laughing at work and trying to write in-between customers💀

The sun had long dipped behind the walls of Alexandria, and the sky was an inky black, littered with stars.

You barely remember how it started. One minute, you were lounging on the couch, minding your own business and chatting with Carol after a particularly tough day in Alexandria. The next? Well, you were plastered—thanks to the moonshine Carol stashed away "for special occasions." She called this a special occasion because she was "bored," and apparently boredom justified cracking open a bottle. You didn’t argue. Why would you? It had been a rough week.

You should’ve known better. You’re not much of a drinker.

You have always had a low alcohol tolerance. When you got drunk, you would often do the most stupidly odd things.

Like the day you got shitfaced drunk and told Rick you could outshoot him blindfolded, almost shooting the man in the damn head. Or the day you insisted Daryl hand over your marriage papers so you could set it ablaze, saying, quote, 'Good luck returning me without the fucking receipt, Dixon!' Before collapsing into his embrace.

However, following Rick's incident, there was always a 10-foot radius check for weapons if you and a drink were present.

Now, you’re sitting in the middle of the living room floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Your hair is a wild mess—like, wilder than usual—and your hand clutches an old, tattered Polaroid picture of Daryl’s wife.

Except... you are Daryl’s wife.

It was an old, weathered picture of you and Daryl taken back when things weren’t so apocalyptic. You looked happy in it—probably because there wasn’t a horde of walkers trying to eat you at the time. Your arm was looped around Daryl’s waist, and he had that rare, soft smile on his face. It was a picture you loved.

Right now, though? You hated it.

"She’s so pretty!" you wail, voice wobbling dramatically, holding up the photo to no one in particular. “How did he end up with someone so gorgeous?” Your head lolls back as you take another swig from the bottle of moonshine in your hand. “I’m never gonna be as good as her!"

Across the room, Carol watches from her seat with a mixture of amusement and concern, sipping from her own glass. She’s been trying to calm you down, but her efforts haven’t been successful. At this point, she’s just waiting for the storm to pass. Rick, however, looking for Daryl, steps through the door right at the pinnacle of your emotional breakdown.

“Carol,” Rick begins, eyeing your tear-streaked face and the empty bottle in your hand. “Why is Y/N cryin’?”

“She’s drunk,” Carol responds, deadpan, like that explains everything. Which, in all fairness, it kind of does.

Rick looks at you, then back at Carol, eyebrows raised. “And?”

Carol lets out a long breath, like she’s explained this one too many times. “She saw a picture of Daryl’s wife.”

Rick frowns in confusion, scratching the back of his head. "But… she is Daryl’s wife."

“I know,” Carol deadpans.

Rick shoots her an incredulous look. “She don’t realize that’s her?”

Carol just shrugs. "You ever try reasoning with a drunk person?"

Rick’s eyes narrow slightly as he processes the absurdity of the situation. “Where’s Daryl?”

Carol shakes her head, an amused grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “She kicked him out for cheatin’. He’s in the garage, waitin’ it out."

Rick looks like he’s about to say something, but instead, he just shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a sigh and decides to approach you instead, “Y/N?”

You hear Rick’s voice, but you can’t bring yourself to respond.

Rick’s footsteps draw closer, and you can see him out of the corner of your eye. He’s frowning, his brows pulling together in confusion. That’s the look. The ‘what the hell is going on’ look. You’ve seen it plenty of times before. He squats down in front of you, hands resting on his knees as he assesses the situation.

Your face screws up again, tears welling as you shove the bottle toward Rick in a grand gesture of misery. “He’s cheating on me!”

Rick recoils slightly, probably because your breath smells like a distillery at this point. “Uh... what?”

“He’s cheating!” you repeat, throwing your arms wide like this should be obvious to everyone around you. You wave the photo in the air dramatically, like you were presenting your case to the high court. “With some��some woman!”

Rick looks at Carol again, completely confused by how your drunken brain came up with this. Carol just shrugs, but there's a slight twitch in the corner of her mouth like she’s fighting a smile.

“Okay... slow down,” Rick says cautiously, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s good with walkers, not so good with drunk people. Especially drunk people who are screaming about imaginary affairs. “Who’s he cheating with?”

You look around conspiratorially before leaning in like you’re about to spill the world’s most scandalous secret. “His wife,” you whisper dramatically, as if that explains everything.

Rick’s brow furrows again. “But... you’re his wife.”

You nod enthusiastically, your head wobbling a little. “Exactly! He’s cheating on me with me!” You hiccup, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. The bottle dangles dangerously from your other hand.

You knew this day would come. It’s just like you always feared—Daryl’s finally realized he deserves better. Someone prettier, smarter, and far less dramatic than you. You’re sure of it. You pull the Polaroid close to your face and squint at it.

"Look at her," you sniffle, voice thick with drunken emotion. “Look at how flawless she is. He’s probably out there with her right now!"

Rick and Carol share a look, clearly unsure of how to handle this. Carol steps forward, cautiously approaching you like you’re a wild animal. “Y/N,” she says softly, “honey, that’s… that’s a picture of you.”

You blink, turning the photo back toward you and studying it intensely, your brows furrowing in concentration. “What?”

“That’s you in the picture,” Carol repeats gently, trying not to laugh.

You frown deeply, staring at the woman in the photo. “No, it’s not!” you argue, shaking your head as if they’ve lost their minds. “I don’t look like this—she’s so beautiful!” You lean forward, grabbing Carol by the arm, eyes wide with desperation. “Carol, how could he do this to me?”

Carol struggles to keep her composure. “He didn’t do anything to you, Y/N. You’re drunk.”

You collapse back on the carpeted floor, letting out a fresh wave of sobs. “I’m gonna divorce him! And then—and then—he’ll regret it!” The words come out in a slurred mess, your anger morphing back into sadness almost instantly. “He doesn’t even care! I kicked him out and everything.”

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing like he’s aged a hundred years in the last five minutes. He turns to Carol. “Okay. Where did you say Daryl was?”

You choose to answer instead before Carol can speak. “Who cares?! He’s probably with her right now!” You hiccup again, and then your face scrunches up as if you’re about to cry harder. “I’m his wife, Rick! And he’s out there... with her! She’s... she’s prettier than me!”

Carol lets out a bark of laughter at that, and even Rick cracks a smile despite himself. “Y/N, you are his wife.”

“I know!” you sob, throwing your head back in despair. “It’s awful!”

Rick lets out another long-suffering sigh. “Alright. I’m gonna go find Daryl.”

“He’s in the garage.” Carol mutters, and decides to console your hysterical self for the tenth time while Rick brings in Daryl.

“He’s gonna have to crawl back to me on his knees.”

Carol pats your shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure he will.”

You sniffle, nodding. “He’s just…he’s a man. They do dumb things sometimes.”

Carol tries to keep a straight face, but the corners of her mouth twitch. “Right. Exactly.”

After what seems like hours but is really just a few minutes, you hear the familiar sound of the front door opening and closing, with Daryl and Rick returning inside.

Carol managed to peel the bottle of moonshine from between your fingers and pull you over to the couch, so you're now slumped over on the couch with the bottle somewhere in the kitchen. Your eyes narrow when you see him, but you’re too tired—and too drunk—to get up.

When Carol sees Daryl and Rick arrive, she gives Daryl a nod and decides to call it a night, returning home and leaving you to Daryl. Rick also says a quick goodbye to Daryl before leaving you two to be.

“I’m still mad at you,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest and looking away.

Daryl crouches down infront of you, resting his arms on his knees. “I know.”

“I’m divorcing you.”

Daryl smirks, brushing some hair out of your face. “You’re not divorcin’ me.”

“Am too.”

“Nope.”

You let out a dramatic sigh and lean into his shoulder, tucking your face in his neck, too exhausted to fight anymore. “I hate that picture.”

Daryl chuckles, wrapping an arm around you as he pulls you to your feet. “Yeah, well, I ain’t too fond of it myself right’ now.” He helps you inside, your steps wobbly as you lean against him, your anger slowly dissolving into sleepy acceptance.

“I was just... so mad,” you mumble, your voice slurred as you nuzzle against his chest. “Didn’t mean to kick you out.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Daryl murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Still... divorcing you tomorrow.”

Daryl just shakes his head with a smile as he helps you up the stairs. “Sure you are, darlin’. Sure you are.”

Daryl walks you towards the bedroom with the patience of a saint, keeping an arm securely wrapped around your waist as your legs wobble like a newborn fawn. You’re still grumbling under your breath, your words slurred and barely coherent, but your determination to maintain your fury has not wavered. Not entirely.

“You didn’t even say sorry,” you mumble, leaning heavily against him as you stumble over the threshold. “Should make you sleep outside again.”

Daryl chuckles softly, his grip tightening just enough to keep you from tripping over the rug. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to apologize first thing in the mornin’, sweetheart. C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Nooo,” you protest, your feet dragging with exaggerated effort. “You gotta... gotta say it now. Or—divorce.” Your head wobbles dangerously as you point a finger at his chest, your attempt to look stern falling completely flat.

Daryl shakes his head with an amused smirk, scooping you up in his arms in one swift motion. “Ain’t divorcin’ me if you’re too drunk to remember how.”

You give a half-hearted squawk of protest, but the sound dissolves into a giggle as he carries you upstairs. “I can remember!” you declare, though you’re already nuzzling into the crook of his neck, the warmth of him seeping through your foggy brain. “Daryl Dixon... divorced... for bein’ a big, dumb... dumbass.”

He reaches the bedroom and gently deposits you on the bed. You flop back like a rag doll, limbs splayed out as if you’ve completely given up on the world. “That’s a real solid case you got there,” Daryl mutters, shaking his head in amusement as he reaches down to tug off your boots.

You wiggle your toes when your feet are freed, watching him with a lazy, half-lidded gaze. “Yup. Real solid,” you repeat, mimicking his accent with a sloppy grin. “I’m real smart, you know. Like... a genius.”

Daryl pulls a face like he’s seriously contemplating this. “A genius, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, clearly proud of yourself. “Genius. That’s why I’m divorcin’ you. ’Cause... geniuses don’t put up with cheaters.”

He snorts and moves to grab a glass of water from the bedside table, holding it out to you. “Here. Drink.”

You take the glass but make no move to actually drink from it, instead eyeing Daryl suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“It’s water.”

“Water?” You narrow your eyes like he’s trying to trick you. “What for?”

“To sober you up,” Daryl explains, deadpan. “So you can remember all this nonsense tomorrow.”

You stick out your lower lip in a pout but finally lift the glass to your lips, taking a tentative sip. You immediately make a face like it’s the most offensive thing you’ve ever tasted, pushing the glass back at him. “I don’t like it.”

Daryl chuckles again, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes the glass and sets it back on the table. “Ain’t supposed to like it. It’s just water.”

“Doesn’t taste like moonshine,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as if this is some great injustice.

“Yeah, well, you ain’t gettin’ any more moonshine tonight,” Daryl says, his voice low and teasing as he crouches down to pull the covers over you. “Now, settle down.”

You huff, wriggling around as you try to find a comfortable position. “Still mad,” you mumble, though your words are getting softer, your body succumbing to the overwhelming need for sleep. “Divorce papers... in the mornin’.”

Daryl lets out a soft chuckle, lying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. “Sure thing, darlin’. I’ll be waitin’ for ‘em.”

You curl up against him, burying your face in his chest with a content sigh despite your earlier threats. “Better be sorry,” you mumble one last time, already drifting off into a heavy, alcohol-induced sleep.

“Real sorry,” Daryl mutters, his lips brushing against your hair. “Real sorry for marryin’ such a stubborn little thing.”

The next morning hits like a freight train.

Your eyelids flutter open, and the sunlight streaming through the window feels like it’s stabbing directly into your skull. With a groan, you roll over and immediately regret it. Your head throbs, your mouth is drier than the Sahara desert, and your entire body feels like it’s been dragged through a pit of walkers. Twice.

“Oh my God,” you croak, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Never drinking again. Ever.”

From beside you, Daryl lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

You crack one eye open, glaring at him through the blinding light. “I’m serious.”

“Mhm.” He’s sitting up on his elbow, watching you with an infuriating smirk. “You said the same thing last time you drank, too. After you told Rick you could outshoot him blindfolded.”

You groan again, dragging a pillow over your face. “Please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid last night.”

“Oh, nothin’ too stupid,” Daryl says casually, but you can hear the laughter in his voice. “Just threatened to divorce me. You know, normal stuff.”

You freeze under the pillow, a wave of embarrassment washing over you. Slowly, you pull the pillow down just enough to peek out at him. “...What?”

“Yup,” Daryl confirms with a smug grin. “Kicked me out of the house for ‘cheatin’ on you’ with yourself.”

You groan again, throwing the pillow at his face with all the energy you can muster. “Oh my God, shut up.”

He catches the pillow easily, laughing as he sets it aside. “Ain’t lettin’ you live that one down, sweetheart.”

You cover your face with your hands, mortified. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Daryl says with a pop of the ‘p,’ clearly enjoying your misery. “Carol and Rick were real concerned. Thought they’d have to draw up them divorce papers right then and there.”

You peek out from between your fingers, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate you.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead with that same infuriating smirk. “Love you too.”

You try to scowl at him, but it’s hard to stay mad when he’s looking at you like that. Still, you groan and roll over, burying your face in the pillow again. “I’m never drinking again,” you mutter into the fabric.

Daryl chuckles, lying back down beside you and pulling you into his arms. “Sure you aren’t, darlin’. Sure you aren’t.”

Note: gifs, pictures, and header DOES NOT belong to me. CREDITS TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS!! Feedback and reblog is appreciated.<3

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kissatoru · 1 year ago

Text

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔

content · NSFW MDNI, college au, dom/sub dynamics, bratty sub!eren, mean to soft dom!reader, gn!reader, dry humping, humiliation, nipple play, degradation, praise, edging, handjob, blowjob

wc · ~6.8k

notes · couldn’t help making it soft at the end! i’ve reread this so many times i genuinely have no idea if it’s good but i hope you enjoyed it<3

House parties aren’t really your thing. You’ve been to a few but you quickly discovered that they involve a lot more vomit and interpersonal drama than you have the tolerance for, so you tend to avoid them. You would’ve turned down the invitation for this one too, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was Eren Jaeger who offered it up to you. That’s why you’re here, at the house of someone who’s a friend of a friend’s friend, at sometime past midnight.

You’re leaning against the wall, sipping on a half-empty can of pop, when you finally spot Eren, making his way over to you with a grin much too wide for someone who’s late to a party he invited you to. He looks good, dressed in a white tank top that brings out the musculature of his arms and black skinny jeans you’ve only ever seen him wear to parties like this one, since he usually wears sweatpants everywhere else. His hair is half-down and half-up in a bun, not too different from the usual messy man bun he goes for.

Once he arrives at your side, beer can in hand, you exchange greetings and small talk, talking about nothing and everything. In the middle of a conversation, some drunk rando throws up by your feet, so you and eren migrate to a different room. On the way though, another person bumps into you and spills their drink down your shirt. It doesn’t help that you were already damp with sweat from how hot and stuffy it is, as well as nauseous from the lingering stench of vomit mixed with alcohol and BO. You meet their eyes with hellfire on your tongue and in any other situation, you would’ve let it loose, but the way they paw at your clothes and slur their apology reminds you that you’re in a house full of clumsy idiots just like them, so you just shrug it off and focus on finding a bathroom to clean up in.

That’s what Eren likes about you. You’re down-to-earth and keep to yourself, but don’t let people walk over you and speak out when you need to; you’re not exactly timid, but you’re soft-spoken in a way that suits your voice and nice to people without being overly nice. Oh and don’t get him started on your witty humour and the way you play off other people’s jokes so effortlessly; even when you shake your head or roll your eyes or just ignore him after he tells a joke that doesn’t land, he’s buzzing. That’s why he’s been ogling you during your shared lectures, the reason he keeps ‘losing’ his pens and asking to borrow from you, the reason he keeps ‘forgetting’ to give them back, the reason he asked you out to this party! Something about you just got Eren hooked, to the point that he couldn’t stop thinking about you, to the point he would wake up with a boner almost every morning and jerk off from what he remembered of his dreams about you; to the point those dreams turned into fantasies, imagining what your body looks like under your clothes, what your moans sound like, what faces you’d make.

You, on the other hand, didn’t have any strong feelings toward Eren until later. You thought of him as kind of average, if not a little loud and annoying at times, such as when he disrupted class, but in a word, tolerable, and definitely not the worst classmate you’ve ever had. Usually, you’d never give a guy like him the time of day unless he actually tried to pursue you (instead of just flirting and joking around aimlessly) but your interest was piqued after your friends passed on to you some rumours about him being a self-proclaimed ‘hardcore dom’. From that point on, you were just as hooked. You became less dismissive and a little more friendly, playing along with his game — long enough so that he’d never see it coming once you finally sunk your claws into him.

That’s why, when you finally find the bathroom, you stop in the doorway, turn to Eren in your stained shirt and say, “Do you mind helping me clean up?”

The excitement in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed as he answers a nonchalant, “Yeah, sure,” and follows you inside. The soft click of the lock has Eren’s pulse jumping because he knows exactly where this is going. He knew you had to feel something back, that you couldn’t resist his advances forever. His eyes scan you shamelessly while you pull your top over your head and start wiping your chest down with a towel. He leans against the door and comments, “Hey now, you might give a guy the wrong idea taking off your clothes like that,” and that’s what sets everything else into motion.

“Yeah?” you say as you step closer. Your voice is hushed, lowered, as if to whisper a dirty secret. “How do you know it’s the wrong idea?”

Eren falters at your forwardness, but runs a palm over his hair and regains his composure. “I guess I don’t,” he says, not even trying to hide the way he’s staring at your lips. “So, is it?” His dark gaze flicks back up to your eyes. “The wrong idea?”

You smile and make sure to bat your eyelashes extra prettily as you whisper, “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?”

His lips are on you as soon as you finish the question and his hands grasp at you while he backs you up against the door. He kisses you feverishly and as impatiently as you’ve been feeling this entire night. You let him kiss along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone, but before he can get too carried away, you guide him back to your lips. This time, you take over leadership in the kiss. Eren smirks, mistaking it for eagerness, until a skilled tongue slides into his mouth and your hands begin to touch him with confidence and ease. His breath hitches once, twice, and it only spirals from there. He’s gasping and panting in seconds, overwhelmed and barely managing to keep up. Slowly but surely, you’re pushing back, and he can feel himself giving in, involuntarily yielding to you like it’s a biological instinct. He doesn’t even realise how bad it is until it’s too late, until his back is pressed against the door and his centre of gravity becomes you, staring at him with a look he’s never seen on your face before.

“You’re real pretty, you know that, right?” you tell him as you tuck some of the loose hair from his bun behind his ear. Eren opens his mouth, presumably to bark out a retort at your (what he believes to be) demeaning choice of words, but all that comes out is a quiet moan as your knee rides up between his legs. You take advantage of that and slip your thumb inside, pressing down on his tongue and opening his mouth wider. “So pretty,” you add in a croon, but then he brings his teeth down and bites your thumb. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a pained reaction, settling for a disappointed glare and a tight grip of his jaw. “Don’t be a brat now, Jaeger. You don’t wanna know what I do to brats.” Interestingly, the lump against your knee twitches. You arch an eyebrow. “Oh? Or maybe you do?”

His eyes are on yours, seemingly stern and rebellious but you know it’s just a ruse; you know begging for mercy when you see it. Such eyes suit him, you’ll give him that, but you’d have to be a fool not to take this opportunity, to give him that final nudge, those final few centimetres he needs to be all yours. So you whisper into his ear, the kinds of things he’s used to saying and worse, until he’s flushed and speechless, stuttering over his breaths and holding back whines. It’s almost too easy when you lean down to his neck, and he just lifts his chin and gives it to you, without you even having to ask. You reward him with red kisses and purple lovebites that have the skin beneath your lips thrumming with suppressed moans. It’s such a treat too, how affected he is when you’ve barely even started.

Some part of Eren is still screaming at him to steal back his dignity and the role he’s made a reputation out of, but his pants are damp and so tight it hurts, it’s really not his fault when he starts grinding against your knee in search of relief. You find it adorable, really, and smirk against his neck as you press your knee forward in an act of pity. A whimper slips from him and he ruts against you faster, more desperately, so desperately. He almost sobs because he was sure your actions would be as cruel as your words, but he’s too caught up in chasing his high to feel relieved or thankful. He focuses only on moving his hips, back and forth, back and forth, and holy shit, is he really about to come already? In his pants, like some teenager?

He stops his movements, shaking with the effort of keeping still. With clammy hands, he hurries to undo his jeans, but you snatch them away and pin them to the wall. Your curled lips indicate that you understand the situation just fine without an explanation, yet you still have the audacity to say, “What’s the matter? Don’t you wanna come?” your tone all flowery and pure as you pick up where he left off, mercilessly rubbing his cock through the fabric.

“No, no, no, fuck,” Eren chokes out, even as he betrays himself by meeting your knee halfway, but he just can’t stop! His peak is drawing closer and closer and his downward motions just get harder and faster. It feels so good and he’s so, so–

“Don’t come yet.”

Eren’s first thought is: how the fuck is he supposed to do that? But then his second thought is: why would he listen to you anyway? What authority do you have over him? And yet what comes out of his mouth is, “Please–”

“Begging so soon?” you say against his lips. “That’s sweet, it really is.” You let go of his wrists and trail your hands down his arms to his chest, then over a nipple experimentally, grinning when you feel it pebble under your light touch. You give it some more attention, circling and rubbing it through the fabric until Eren’s hands are clutching your shoulders and he’s curling in on himself trying to escape the foreign sensation. He never thought that part of his body could feel... good?

You suddenly pinch and twist it and Eren whines. The pain is sharp, and yet that’s what has his orgasm returning. With only a few more grinds against your knee, it’s hitting him fast, from all angles, and the thing he’s been dreading finally comes true. He soaks his underwear with cum, hot and sticky and disgusting. He moans weakly, digging his blunt fingernails into your shoulders as his head raises up against the door.

You sigh, disappointed. “I didn’t say you could come.”

Eren is standing there, trying to catch his breath and too out of it to respond to you, when you suddenly grab him through his pants. His back arches at the overstimulation and you’re smiling because of course you are as your hand massages over his bulge and the horrid squelching sounds remind him of his shame. He tries to get away from the stimulation, gasping out, “Stop, stop, stop!” but when you don’t hear that lovely ‘please’ you only quicken your ministrations.

“You’re such a pervert, Eren,” you taunt, soft and sultry, as if you weren’t humiliating him with your words. “Coming in your pants from having your nipples played with? And it’s only been like, what, a minute?”

His cheeks turn pink, his eyebrows knit together, and all he can say is a shaky, “Shut up.”

You snicker. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute! You’re just like a virgin.”

“I’m not a virgin,” he croaks out, and it’s true, but you pretend to be unconvinced so you can watch him rush to make you believe him while his face blooms a darker shade of pink and his cock hardens at your touch — or maybe your words? Either way, you continue palming him until his defiant expression fades, until it’s replaced by parted lips and hooded eyes.

Then you pull away, just as he’s starting to buck into your palm. You relish the way he looks at you, so questioning and betrayed. You wish you could see what other faces you can get him to make, but now that you’ve given him a taste, you intend to take it all away. It’s the funnest part of this all; leaving him wanting after planting the seed of what could be into his mind, letting him continue with his life of hook-ups and one-night-stands before he inevitably comes running back to you. It would be so easy now to lose your patience and ravage him like a starved man, sure, but that takes away the fun in taking him apart piece by piece. You’ve come all this way; it would be a shame not to savour it.

“Why did you stop?”

There it is, you think, and you can’t help smiling. “You told me to,” you answer as you take a step back. Eren stands there, the start of a protest falling from his lips. You don’t wait for him to finish, instead reaching for your shirt and putting it back on.

“Hey,” Eren scoffs and grabs your arm. “You can’t just leave.” His tone is light-hearted, but you can tell he’s being serious, and that it’s more like a plea rather than the statement it’s phrased as.

“Oh, can’t I?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Eren looks at you, then his crotch. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this lost for words.

You just laugh through your nose, like he’s told a bad joke. “This is your punishment, Eren. You should remember it next time you think about disobeying me.” You wave your hand for him to move, but he lingers, so you give him a pointed look, a silent demand. He steps out of the way and you open the door. “See you in class on Monday,” you say over your shoulder before shutting the door behind you.

Standing there with his heart still pounding with adrenaline, Eren realises that he was right before; your actions are as cruel as your words, crueller even, he just guessed too soon. He should be livid — you’ve left him covered in hickeys, with an aching boner and cum that’s still warm in his pants — but all he can think about is two words: next time. Even after days have passed, he doesn’t stop thinking about them. He clings to them like a lifeline, every day and every class with you after that; turning those words over, listening to the echo of your voice in his mind, the way your lips moved around those two bittersweet syllables. He thinks about them for an entire three weeks before they finally come into existence thanks to a class assignment that gets the two of you paired up.

You avoid inviting him over too soon, purposely offering to meet up at cafés and the campus library. At first, they were nothing more than that: just doing actual work for the assignment. But soon enough, you start to tease and distract him; a foot skimming his inner calf one too many times to be an accident, a hand on his thigh that rubs up and down but never more. It’s torture, yet Eren feels giddy at the prospect of it leading up to something more, every single time, wondering if this will be the time you go further.

There’s one time he’s sure you will. It starts out innocent, you asking him to get a book that’s too high up for you. As he reaches for it, his shirt lifts up, revealing a strip of his v-line and the waistband of his boxers, how the edge of skin above it is slightly paler, where his tan didn’t reach...

It’s gone as soon as it appears and usually your thoughts would vanish with it — except the aisle happens to be dowsed in shadows from a broken light and the closest person around is on the other side of the library. Eo instead of your urges slipping away, it’s your self-restraint, and rather than taking the book, you take his wrist. Then you pin him to wall and use your other hand to push his lips into yours, all in one fell swoop. The intensity with which you kiss him and the way you have him pressed against the wall brings him back to that night. He kisses back just as passionately, all slippery saliva and clashing teeth. He’s sweating already, hot with the thrill of what else you’re willing to do, how far you’re willing to go in a public place like this. Would you touch him? make him come in his pants? Leave him hard?

A hand clutching onto your shirt brings you back to your senses. You pull away and Eren tries to chase your lips, but you catch his jaw before he can. He’s still panting from the residual excitement of earlier. His eyes stare at you, puppy-like in the way they speak a silent plea and twinkle with the reflection of the library ceiling lights behind you. You just smile and pet his spit-slick lips with a thumb, the gentle touch distracting him long enough for you to grab the book he’s still holding and step back. “Thanks,” you say, gesturing to the book before walking away.

Just seconds ago, Eren’s mind was racing with thoughts, but as he stares at your retreating back, his only thought is that you really are cruel — and yet it is that thought, and that moment, that replay in his head that very night as he’s roughly pumping his cock and coming in his underwear, if only to pretend you forced him to, just like back then. He’s pathetic, he knows that, but at the same time, it’s all he can do. He just feels so... he doesn’t even know what to call it, but it has him drooling after everything you do. He’s never felt this way about anyone. He’s only ever slept around with people, too afraid of committment for even friends with benefits or a situationship. He’s not even all that great with friendships, with only two friends he’s been lucky enough to have by his side since childhood, and a few guys he talks to and has lunch with at uni, but never actually hangs out with outside of class. But you? You have something that makes him want to stay, to keep going after you; you’re the reason he hasn’t slept with anyone since the party. He’s tried to, but it’s just not the same. He feels like you’ve ruined him for everyone else. That’s why he has no other choice but to fuck his fist after every meet-up with you, imagining it as your fist while the words you left him with loop in his head.

It isn’t until over halfway through the project that Eren’s pining finally reaches its peak with a single message:

let’s work at my place today, usual time

The way it’s not a question does something to him, which is when he realises how pent-up he is. He knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but by the time he reaches your dorm, he’s already half-hard. He wipes his sweaty hands off on his tee and adjusts himself in his sweatpants before knocking on your door. When you open it, you’re in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, legs bare and feet clad in slippers.

“You’re early,” you say as Eren strolls inside.

He scoffs. “Not on purpose,” he says, hoping you don’t see through his façade (you do). He slides his hands into his pockets and takes a look around your room. Various shelves and decoration on your walls, reflecting your interests; memorabilia and clutter on different surfaces and furniture. Some clothes thrown over your desk chair, a few plants and books. There’s a scent in the air too, not too strong but prominent and uniquely you.

“When you’re done snooping around my room like a creep,” you call out from your bed, “we should get on with the assignment.” Your fingers clack away on your laptop keyboard for a bit before looking at Eren. “I know the deadline’s next Friday but I’d rather get it done as soon as, y’know?”

Eren’s stomach drops. He completely forgot the real reason he was invited here; the innocent reason he was invited here. Your tone was casual, gave no indication that you knew, yet as he stands there in front of you, he feels like you’re in his head. Do you know the effect you had on him at the party? The effect you continue to have on him? Shit, Eren thinks, as he clenches and unclenches his fists. He wants to respond, play it off cool and act like he only agreed to come so enthusiastically because he cares about his grades, but his mind is blank.

“Cat got your tongue?” you tease, shifting into a position that has you face-on to Eren. Then you slide to the edge of the bed and lean forward. “Why so quiet, Jaeger? That’s not like you, your loud mouth usually always has something to say.” Those scrutinising eyes scan him from head to toe. Slowly. “And where are all the materials anyway? The ones you were meant to bring? For the assignment?”

He feels caught, trapped like prey, and with every few-second flick of your eyes, every purposely chosen word and perfectly timed pause, he feels himself get smaller and smaller.

“Don’t tell me,” you start, but with those three words alone, Eren already knows his fate has been sealed, “you thought we wouldn’t actually be doing the assignment?” You’re smiling now, the same smile you had in that bathroom three weeks ago as you palmed him through his cum-soaked pants. “What did you think we were going to do, huh? Please, tell me...” Your eyes narrow into slits and your lips stretch out in a smile, showing off teeth that flash like a predator’s. “I am so curious.”

You’re pushing his buttons, making him feel like the desperate one, and maybe he is, but could you blame him? Eren just wants another taste of what you gave him at the party, and most of all, he wants you. He realises that maybe you really did just send that text with the intention of working on the assignment, but there’s no denying that in this moment, that’s not what this is; in this moment, you’re nudging him forward after toying with his sexual frustration, and in this moment, Eren decides to put a stop to it.

He stomps forward until he’s looming over you, a sharp scowl twisting his features. “Stop playing dumb, [Name]. You know damn well what you were doing when you sent me that text,” he snarls, sea green eyes stormy and narrowed. “I’m done with these games, alright? If you’re not going to take responsibility for making me like this, then– then I will.” He almost falters from the weight of your eyes, the way they just sit there, waiting and unfazed, but he steels his composure. “You’re just a brat anyway,” he says, leaning in. “All you really want is for someone to put you back in your place.”

That smile hasn’t left; hasn’t so much as twitched. In the position you’re in, you’re looking up at him, but the way you’re doing it makes it feel as though Eren is the one looking up, the one being looked down on. “Well... you’re right about me knowing what i was doing,” you admit, “but the rest? Not so much. Not for me, anyway.” You trace the collar of Eren’s t-shirt with your fingertips, drag your palm down his chest...

You suddenly bunch up the fabric and yank it with a tight fist. Your other hand catches Eren’s shoulder and keeps him steady as his palms land on either side of you, knees bent and head in the crook of your neck. “Come now, Jaeger. Do you really think I’m the brat in this situation?” You say softly, your breath warm and your lips featherlight as they graze his ear lobe. “Put me back in my place?” you giggle quietly and it reverberates through eren’s skull like a thunder clap. “Does that really sound like something you want to do to me?” He can feel the way you smile against the shell of his ear, the wetness of your teeth. “Or is that just the only way you know how to ask for something to be done to you?”

Eren is hidden in your neck yet he feels completely exposed. He wants to mask the way your words make his breathing stutter, but when you’re this close, even he knows it’s no use. All he can do is stay right where he is, frozen in a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation.

You shove Eren back and he crumbles to the floor on all fours. “That’s more like it.” You tilt your head at him as he sits up on his knees. “Doesn’t this feel so much better?”

Eren doesn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but it does feel better. His gaze drops to his lap in shame but that’s where he sees the even more shameful bulge that’s formed between his legs. he instinctually covers it up, but he’s too late, and his attempt at hiding it only confirms what you already know. You reach over and angle his head up by his chin. You have an unimpressed expression on your face, but your eyes contrast it with their fiery intrigue. “Wow, Eren,” you say through an amused sigh as you lean in close to his face. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

He swallows nervously and presses his thighs together. His breathing is already faltering in his chest, but he tries to keep it steady as he replies, “You can’t blame me. You’ve been teasing me ever since you left me at the party. Just like this.”

A hand yanks his head back by his hair and Eren is unable to stop the moan that escapes him. He chews on his lip as you sneer down at him. “Being left like that was exactly what you deserved,” you mutter, then you raise your eyebrows, feigning a contemplative expression, “but maybe another, harsher punishment is what you need to learn your lesson, hm?”

Eren’s dick twitches and he would’ve nodded too, if he didn’t register at the last minute that punishments aren’t meant to be enjoyed.

You catch it anyway, and scoff. “Of course, you’d like that, you fucking whore.” You let go of his hair and lean back. eren stares at you, confused, until you pat your lap. “Sit,” you tell him. Your posture is relaxed, in contrast to his, which tenses as he straddles your lap, resting his hands on your shoulders. Your eyes widen and you smile incredulously. “I guess leaving you like that wasn’t entirely useless, huh?” you laugh to yourself and massage along his hips and thighs before finally tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down, slowly, along with his underwear. A shudder runs down Eren’s spine at the touch of cool air on his skin. His hard cock bumps against his abdomen, leaving behind a shiny smudge of precum. You tap his wet tip and draw circles around it, making Eren hiss and briefly dig his nails into your shoulders.

“Don’t–” he stops himself when you glance up at him.

Your eyebrows raise. “What was that?” you ask, but he just swallows and remains silent. “Use your manners, baby. You’ve done it once before, so I know you can.” Your other hand snakes under his t-shirt and caresses his side. “Don’t get shy now. If you’re cute enough, I might give you a reward.”

Eren shifts in your lap. There’s a pause. then, “Please.”

You chuckle. “Come on, ‘Ren,” you say, “you can do better than that.”

He looks exasperated, but tries again anyway. “Please,” he repeats. “Please just– just touch me. Please.”

He makes it too easy to tease him, you think, as you grin wickedly. “But I’m touching you right now, aren’t I?”

Eren groans. “Yes but– you’re not–” He jumps as you dip your nail gently into his slit. “Fuck, just put your hand around my cock please.”

You surprise him by doing exactly that, a loud moan being torn out of him. Your grip is tight as you drag your fingers down his length, spreading his precum. With how pent up he’s been, Eren feels like he’s close already. His body tingles with pleasure and anticipation. It’s almost too much, yet not enough, the way you slide your hand up then down, up then down, steady and unrushed. Just as Eren is about to ask you to go faster, you rotate your hand over his leaking tip and he chokes on his words. You do it again, and again, before returning to your previous motions. You repeat this, changing your pace a few times, just to watch him squirm, before resuming your steady pumping. Eren begins to wonder if you’re waiting for him to beg more, if you’ll just keep doing this until he asks you to go faster, but the next time you change your pace, it’s fast and doesn’t stop, just goes even faster. Eren stumbles over his breaths. He’s relieved, but at the same time it’s too fast. “Fuck, slo– slow down,” he says in a strangled voice. He is hurtling toward his orgasm, he’s definitely not going to last. Shit, how were you able to go so fast and hard at the same time? It felt like he was on fire. He’s so–

You stop.

A single meek drop of precum trickles down Eren’s dick.

“No–” He groans. “What the fuck? Why did– why didn’t you–”

“Did you forget already?” you interrupt, grinning from ear to ear. Eren’s lips remain pursed in frustration. “This is your punishment, remember?”

A range of emotions pass over Eren’s face: realisation, horror, anger, desperation, self-pity. You watch his inner conflict set aflame, how he looks down at his aching dick, how his fingers twitch and one hand even goes as far as to dip down to try and touch himself, but you grab it and place it back around your neck. “Only I get to touch you, and only I will decide when you get to cum,” you tell him and Eren curses under his breath but stays put. From there, you go back to touching him. You bring him to the edge, over and over, abusing your knowledge of all his weak spots, squeezing and rubbing and pumping vigourously for what must be at least eight times; until his speech is slurred and his pleas are barely intelligible.

When you let go for the final time, you hear him sniffle against your neck.

“That bad, huh?” you mumble, mostly to yourself. You slip your hands beneath his shirt and trace the smooth plains of his torso, up and down, feeling the muscles ripple and writhe from the barely-there touch. “Okay,” you say, “you’ve been good, so I’ll reward you now.” His hips jut out violently and grind against your stomach. You grab his drenched cock and suck your teeth in disapproval. “Don’t ruin it by getting too greedy now, Eren.”

He stares at you, turquoise irises engulfed in black pupils, and licks his lips. “What’s my reward?”

You just smile. “You’ll find out soon enough,” you answer. You pull up his waistband and snap it against his sensitive cock, making him yelp. “First, I want you to get up and take off your clothes.”

Eren is eager and obeys quickly, making a show of it as he does; flexing his muscles a little more than necessary, his movements slow and sensual and tempting because that’s just how he’s done this every time before this. But the sooner that usual ego of his rises, the sooner it falls, because once he’s down to his last item of clothing — his boxers — he just stands there like he doesn’t know what to do next. He does, of course, but he’s feeling what seems like dread at the idea of being completely naked in front of you. Not because he’s insecure, but the fact that it’s you he’s showing it to; you with your fox grins and cruel, humiliating words, your rough treatment and watchful eyes... Fuck, just the thought is making him harder, and then even harder as he wonders if you can see it. Will you point it out? Will you make fun of him? Call him names?

Eren jumps when you graze his crotch with the end of your foot. “Having second thoughts?” you say, teasing but serious all the same.

“No,” he says without hesitating.

“Then go on.” You lift your foot and Eren tenses in anticipation, but you just grin wider and point to the head of his dick, peering out slightly from his boxers, without touching it. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He slides the waistband down his thighs and lets it drop to his feet, then steps out and tosses the garment aside. You’re still fully clothed and relaxed while you look him up and down. Eren slides a hand over the top of his hair, pushing away the fallen strands. He thought he felt exposed earlier, but now it’s even worse. Your eyes are practically devouring him, but you can’t help it. The way he’s standing there, completely nude while you aren’t, waiting for your next command while staring at you with those dark aqua eyes from under pretty dark eyelashes. No number of late-night fantasising would do this sight justice, yet you wonder if you can make it even better. You wonder if you can push him just a little bit further, see how much more you can bend him before he breaks.

“You look nervous, Eren,” you say. “Are you sure you–”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sure,” he all but gasps out.

You arch an eyebrow at his interruption. “I was going to say are you sure you want this? Are you sure you want me?” you clarify. “For all I know, you’re just a slut who’ll pounce on anyone. How do I know I’m not just a set of holes to you, hm?”

Eren frowns. “No, that’s not–” He steps closer to you and sinks to his knees in front of you. “I only want you, [Name]. No one...” His cheeks flush hot and he looks away from your eyes. “No one else could fuck me as good as you.”

It’s not the entire truth and you know that. You’ve always been good at reading people. Though Eren may be better than the average person at lying, around you? All of that depletes and he becomes an open book. “And how would you know that?” you say as you lean back on your palms.

“I don’t,” Eren says as he places his hands on your knees, “but maybe you can show me?”

It’s pathetic yet so beautiful to see a man like Eren Jaeger like this: on his knees and at your disposal. I5’s almost a shame you couldn’t get here sooner, but you’ve always believed in delayed gratification, in trusting the process and the like; that’s why you adore men like him, who’ve only ever been doms and have never even considered anything else. It’s so much fun to string them along, allow them to unknowingly fall into a false sense of security, to make them think you’re just another obedient little sub, and how once you’ve built that up enough, breaking them is all the sweeter.

The shift of you leaning forward makes Eren sit up. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but you gently petting his hair definitely isn’t it. He melts, dropping his head and resting his cheek against your knee, just like you thought he would. After all, you noticed that pushing back loose hair is a nervous tic of his, and so naturally this kind of touch comforts him. You smile fondly at that.

The tender moment is broken by Eren humping your leg. You’re not sure if he even realises he’s doing it. His eyes are shut and he’s whimpering like a dog. The grasp he has around your knees tightens. “Eren,” you say to him and he seems to regain some awareness, stopping his movement and looking up at you. “Would you like your reward?”

He breathes out like he’s been holding it. “Please.”

You pat the space behind you. “Come lay down.”

He does so and you wait for him to get comfortable before perching yourself on his lap. You begin by sliding your hands up his torso and back down again, tracing the dips and curves of his body. You litter kisses from his neck to his collarbone and chest. Your breath ghosts over a nipple and Eren shivers. You take a second to smile before flicking your tongue over the dark pink bud. His chest raises off the bed and into your mouth as you latch onto the nub and swirl your tongue around it. Your hand makes work of his other nipple and Eren’s hips buck into you. A string of spit forms and snaps as you pull away and resume your path down his torso, pecking down his belly, hip and finally, his inner thigh. You feel Eren squirm as your cool breaths hit his drooling cock. You flatten your tongue and lick up from the base, kissing the tip wetly before taking it into your mouth and sucking hard. Eren throws his head back and moans, fallen strands fanning out against the pillows. His hips are restless, so you hold them down while you slide down to the base, then back up to suck on the tip again. Your motions are smooth, aided by saliva and precum, as you begin to bob your head up and down his length.

Eren’s fingers find your hair and cling there. You break away to mutter a cautionary, “Easy,” then swallow down his cock again, moving quicker now. With how you’ve been teasing and edging him, you suspect that he’ll come soon. His sounds get higher and louder, more frequent, and every so often the hands on your head flinch or scratch or curl.

“I’m close, I’m close,” Eren warns through laboured breaths. His skin is damp with sweat, long strands sticking to his forehead in curled shapes. “Please le– let me come.”

You answer him by not stopping, by using your hand to pump the bottom half of his cock while continuing to suck on the rest with hollowed cheeks and wet lips.

“Fuck, m’gonna c– ah! Fuck, please let– please!” His back arches, sheets peeling off his skin before he collapses again, abdomen contracting. “Please say I can–” His nails dig into your scalp as he moans, drawn out and loud. Hot fluid fills up your mouth and throat. You swallow and don’t cease moving until eren is pawing at your face and mumbling about how it’s too much. Afterwards, unable to hold back your teasing nature, you give a few kitten licks to his reddened tip, enjoying how it makes him whine and jolt.

“I take it you liked your reward then?” you say, pushing away the stringy hair around his cheeks and forehead.

“Yeah,” Eren pants, and as he’s lying there, all blissed out and in the process of winding down from his high, you’re gazing down at him in a way he’s only been able to dream of until now and he realises that sure, blowjobs aren’t anything special or revolutionary, but everything leading up to it is what made it so amazing, you are what made it so amazing. You’re everything he didn’t know he wanted, the key that unlocked his hidden desires, and even if you were to leave him hard and aching for your touch again, even if you teased him to no end and laughed at him and called him names, he’d still come back if you gave him the chance because he loves it. He loves you.

You lean in and kiss Eren; delicately, kindly, with care and a gentle want, a peaceful want reserved for lovers, because somewhere along the way you started to develop feelings for him. Eren had only hoped for such a thing, thought that it was wishful thinking and delusion that gave him the impression you might feel the same way. Maybe you didn’t at the beginning; maybe it started out as just lust, but right now you love him and he loves you. The lust is still there, but it’s soft now, and so much more than it was.

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