#look you can't give me a smoke/mute request and not expect me to run with it

[kiruuuuu]

Thank you so much @bdiduk2003​, both for your compliments and the request :) I’m always happy to see your name pop up 💞 Even though I shifted the focus a little, I hope you enjoy this piece in which:

Mute’s Halloween outfit overstays its welcome and Smoke demonstrates what a good dad he is. (Rating M, some sexual elements + heaps of fluff, ~3.5k words) - Thanks a lot also to @i-dnt-know-either​ for allowing me to reference your wonderful Halloween fic!! 💙💙💙 It’s not required but highly recommended to read it first.

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“I really should’ve gotten you some heels”, Smoke drawls, still lazily palming the not uninterested dick right next to his face.

“Want me to moan an octave higher, too? Because I’m not sure I actually can. Might sound like a cat dying.” Mute continues to struggle with getting that blasted dress over his head, wondering how he managed the previous evening. Not having been hungover must’ve helped. It’s early morning now, darkness lurking outside the windows still. They’ve only gotten about three hours of sleep in total, and those not even as a whole but scattered in between frotting and petting and more making out. Smoke had mentioned picking up Charlie after breakfast, and so they decided in favour of staying up the entire night before crashing completely as opposed to waking up like zombies. As a result, Mute’s crotch is sore and so are his nipples and all the bruises on his neck from Smoke acting like a vampire, and still his boyfriend is insatiable.

“Babe, you could yodel for all I care, I’d still fuck you.”

“Is that a challenge?” Finally, Mute manages to pull the playboy bunny outfit back on – Smoke requested a reprise of last night and if it helps tire him out, Mute is more than willing to dress up once more. Even so, his partner is more interested in playing with his half-hard cock peeking out between the lace instead of marvelling at how good he looks. Mute has to admit, the piece of clothing does flatter his physique.

“That depends entirely on whether you can actually yodel or not. Do we have any fishnets?”

Mute rolls his eyes but spreads his legs when questing fingers nudge them apart, already preparing for round number… he’s not even sure, actually, lost count somewhere along the way. “Are you sure you can go again? Or will this end in half an hour of aimless humping?”

The only reply he gets is a bright smile and a finger pushed inside, at which point he stops caring and gets into position to guide the tip of his cock into Smoke’s mouth, partly for the actual stimulation and mostly to shut him up. A tired, hungover Smoke is a Smoke full of bad ideas, and maybe this way he can prevent at least some of them slipping out.

A ringing stops both of them in their tracks. They exchange a meaningful glance.

Unimpressed, the sound continues.

“You should probably get that”, Mute sighs and withdraws all body parts from inside other body parts so Smoke’s hands are free to accept the call. Whoever thinks it appropriate to disturb anyone at this hour, the morning after Halloween, should be shot.

“Is she alright?”, Smoke suddenly blurts out, voice full of worry, and Mute’s stomach drops instantly, all annoyance forgotten and replaced with mild panic. This sounds serious and he doesn’t breathe until Smoke slumps in relief. “Okay. Then what else – really? Where? Gotcha. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Mute likes absolutely nothing of what he’s just heard. “Charlie?”, he guesses and earns a nod.

“She, uh, got picked up by a sergeant, Driscoll. Sounds like local police.”

Pardon him? “She what.”

“Something about trespassing – I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is that we’re picking her up now.” Smoke is already halfway out the door, pulling on jeans and disregarding his lack of underwear. “Come on!”

“I actually know that guy”, Mute provides helpfully and rises as well, begins gathering clothes. “If she really has broken some laws, he’ll let it slide. He likes me.”

“You’re a godsend, babe. Now get rid of that costume and let’s go.”

Sure, no problem. All Mute has to do is take it off again and replace it with reasonable human clothes. No biggie. Piece of cake. After all, he wants to look presentable when facing any kind of law enforcement, and wants to set a good example for Charlie, and doesn’t want to appear like a cheap hooker Smoke dragged along. Easy.

Easy peasy.

“James.” The slight panic in his voice has his lover shift his attention back to him. “The fucking thing is stuck. I can’t get it off.”

They stare at each other across the messy bedroom.

“You can wear your coat?”, comes the weak suggestion and while it’s a good one, Mute shakes his head.

“Gave it to Manu the other day. She hasn’t returned it yet.”

“Put on jeans?”

“The bloody lace won’t fit.”

Another silence. Smoke is radiating impatience and Mute vaguely understands, he’s also worried about Charlie having gotten into trouble, about her hanging out with the wrong crowd and having made choices she might regret later. He knows how important she is to Smoke. Is aware of how important she is to him.

.

A minute later, he’s sitting in the car next to Smoke, boxer briefs peeking out from under the scandalously short dress and struggling with a hoodie he grabbed on his way out, all the while having to listen to Smoke trying to sugarcoat the situation: “Look, if you hide the top, you can pretend you just forgot to put trousers on or that you’re going as, uh -”

“The zip’s broken”, Mute sighs in defeat and demonstrates that the zip is, indeed, broken. So no hiding any part of the dress, except for the back. Wonderful. Great. Just what he needed. “Just forget about it. She’s seen you in worse.”

“She’s seen me in socks with sandals, true, but she’s not seen you in a dress like this. In a come-stained dress. I’m not making this any better, am I?”

“You might wanna stop talking, yes.” From what he knows, Charlie went out with friends to a Halloween party and was meant to sleep over at one of their places – Smoke seemed familiar with the name, so it’s surprising they ended up at the police station. Charlie is picky and, while drawn to troublemakers, she sticks with the sensible ones. The ones who know how to blow up the chemistry lab and yet refrain from doing so. She really takes after her dad in a lot of ways.

It’s not until they’ve actually stepped inside the building that Mute considers what they must look like: him in a very short dress, sneakers without socks, a sliver of bright orange boxers visible under voluminous lace with suspicious stains, a ratty red hoodie finishing the whole ensemble, and then Smoke looking like a homeless person, with the two of them undoubtedly smelling like one as well. At least they washed their hands. Well, Mute did. He doesn’t actually remember whether -

And then he notices the three teens gaping at them in shock. One of them is Charlie, the other two are siblings Mute has met once or twice before, the girl having attended the same elementary school as Smoke’s daughter and the boy only being one year older. And all of them are dumbstruck.

At least they seem to be alright, that’s something. Sighing, Mute turns to the perplexed-looking police officer apparently in charge of the three kids and greets him with a nod. Maybe if he pretends everything is normal, he won’t have to justify himself. “Sergeant.”

Recognition flashes on the man’s face. “Wait – I know you! What was your name again?”

“Mark Chandar. Pleasure seeing you again, Mr Driscoll.”

“Of course! What a coincidence.” They shake hands, the other man now beaming. Mute knows him from his days in Cambridge, was close friends with his daughter and hopefully left a lasting good impression on her dad. “Apologies for not recognising you right away, the, uh, ears threw me off.”

Fuck. He’s still wearing them? Well, taking them off now would only draw more attention to it – except that the teens’ eyes have unanimously shifted upwards to stare at his long bunny ears.

“What are you up to these days, Mark?”

He didn’t come here for friendly conversation, in any case. “Losing bets”, he replies defeatedly and watches as Charlie’s aghast expression tilts over into unbridled mirth.

To his relief, Smoke draws their attention back to the matter at hand: “I’m Charlotte’s father. So what happened?”

“Oh, yes. We received a call from a local farmer about teenagers trespassing in one of his fields and lighting a small bonfire. When we arrived, we only encountered these three next to said field. As it was very early in the morning and quite far away from… anything, really, we brought them back here and contacted you.”

Smoke furrows his brows in displeasure and Mute mirrors him – setting fire to things isn’t one of Charlie’s hobbies and neither is trespassing. She’s a model student where her marks are concerned, even if her classroom behaviour sometimes leaves things to be desired, but overall her rebellious phase has involved dyeing her hair, listening to wild music, cooking all the spicy food Smoke can’t stomach and drinking a few mixed beers here and there. It could be a lot worse.

“It wasn’t us”, Charlie chimes in, now serious again. “Gavin was driving us home and he wanted to keep the party going somewhere random, we even tried telling him that it was a bad idea but he wouldn’t listen. We didn’t climb the fence with them and waited by the road, but they must’ve bailed without us.”

“So you had nothing to do with the fire and didn’t even trespass?”, Smoke clarifies, to which his daughter and the other two teens simply nod. The two siblings seem to intimidated to lie, and this version fits more with what Mute expected, so he turns back to Driscoll.

“In that case you can let them off with a warning, right?”

The sergeant fixes the three with a grave look clearly meant to deter them from any future trouble, but he nods. “Yes, I suppose I can. Maybe you should choose your friends more carefully. Can you drive the other two home as well?”

“Sure.”

And just so his reputation isn’t permanently tarnished, Mute makes some more polite conversation while Smoke herds the teens outside into the car. Their relief is palpable, none of them acquainted with ending up at a police station, and therefore they’re grateful to be rescued. Driscoll threatened to call the siblings’ parents regardless, so they might face some more stern words, but Charlie is her usual relaxed self now.

Well, she should be. She’s chewing on her lip, however, and avoiding Smoke’s gaze in the rear-vision mirror.

“Was this seriously your Halloween costume this year, Mark?”, she blurts out as soon as he’s joined them in the car.

He responds with a weary sigh. “I should know better than to keep betting against your dad by now.”

“Who’s that?”, the girl sitting next to Charlie wants to know quietly.

“Mark? He’s my second dad.” And Mute would be lying if he claimed his heart didn’t skip a beat at that. They took some time warming up to each other, but when she invited him on a concert and he let her have a few sips of his beer, their friendship was sealed. He has trouble viewing her as a daughter since they’re barely ten years apart, but whatever it is that binds them together, they’ve reached mutual respect and understanding. “And apparently trying to get on next month’s Playboy cover. Mark, this is Roisin and this is Niall.”

“I told you we should’ve insisted on costumes”, Roisin continues in a stage whisper, “imagine Gavin in that. Or, even better, Mike. Oh my God, Mike in heels.”

“Why does everyone keep going on about heels?”, Mute wonders out loud and prompts an embarrassed giggle from Charlie’s friend, but Smoke isn’t laughing. All he does is drive through the English countryside, eyes on the road, mouth shut. He’s listening, though. And Mute gets the feeling he’s missing something.

Behind him, the three teens joke around some more, with Niall getting more and more boisterous as time passes and Roisin giggling endlessly – he’s not sure why they’re friends, but Charlie seems to like them, so he leaves them to it. They recount their own party from the previous night and gossip until Smoke stops the vehicle, pointing with his chin.

“Thanks, Mr Porter!”, Roisin hurries to say, with her brother echoing her less enthusiastically, and then both of them hug Charlie before jumping out and racing up the stairs. Probably hoping their parents are neither awake nor have received a phone call from Driscoll yet.

On the back seat, Charlie is back to chewing on her lip.

“Did you set anything on fire that wasn’t meant to be?”, Smoke asks, turning around to examine his daughter closely. And wait.

She just shakes her head, apparently expecting the questioning. “No. Of course not. I was careful, I built a proper pit for it and all.”

Wait. Mute looks back and forth between them.

“Did you remove all traces afterwards?”

“Yes, dad. Please. I’m not an idiot.”

“Why did you go into the field in the first place?”

It’s the first time Charlie actually looks embarrassed. “To stargaze. But then Niall said I couldn’t actually make a fire without a lighter, so I had to prove him wrong.”

“And it was only you three involved?”

“Yeah. We asked to be dropped off there. It was just us.”

“Anything else you have to say?”

She nods, sounding earnest. “Sorry for worrying you. And thanks for picking us up.” When Smoke remains quiet, she adds: “Thanks for getting us off the hook, Mark.”

He continues to be flabbergasted by the exchange – Charlie is not in the habit of lying, but looking back, he begins to understand: she doesn’t lie to Smoke. Everyone outside is fair game. He supposes this is what they call paternal instinct – he would’ve believed her everything. “No problem, Charl. I love making a complete fool of myself in front of casual acquaintances.”

This seems to break the ice, and the two Porters let out a laugh along with a breath they’ve been holding. “You look fantastic”, Charlie lies smoothly. “But why are you still wearing it?”

“That reminds me, we don’t have anything for breakfast”, Smoke announces brightly, inconspiciously changing the topic. “We should go shopping.”

And Mute just groans.

.

On the way through the parking lot, Charlie is back to being her bubbly self now that she knows Smoke isn’t mad at her, laughing unselfconsciously at most jokes and giving a rundown of her Halloween while Smoke feeds her bits and pieces of their own. Mute mentions Blitz’ collar and Charlie is both intrigued and scandalised, and when the topic shifts to Jäger’s cat ears, her eyes light up in a very familiar way. Seems like Mute already knows what he’ll get her for Christmas. They pass by a few leftovers from the past night, a handful of costumed drunken blokes swaying in place and holding a contest for the loudest burp.

Just as they’re walking past them, the wannabe-Jack-Sparrow who indubitably glanced at Mute’s attire yells for everybody to hear: “Ewww, a homo!”

Without missing a beat – and before anyone can even react –, Charlie replies loudly: “Ewww, heteros!”

Mute swallows a grin. He can’t encourage her because Smoke has been trying to teach his daughter the non-confrontational approach in a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ way, and all her dad does is walk a little faster now, gently pulling her with him. It’s not that they couldn’t beat these guys to a pulp. It’s not that Smoke wouldn’t normally make a huge display or ridicule arseholes like this. This is purely about didactics.

“The fuck did you call us, brat?”, roars severely underweight Batman whose fake abs hang on his thin frame sadly.

“I’m sorry you missed out on so much necessary education”, Charlie shoots back, cheeks reddening in anger, and then Smoke guides her through the sliding doors into the Tesco’s. “Wow, those idiots are dumb. They don’t even know what hetero means, that’s ridiculous, they thought it was an insult or something, how can you -”

“Charlie.” Smoke stops, regarding her calmly and waiting until she deflates.

“I know, dad. Pick my battles. But I get so bloody annoyed at guys like them. Bloody Niall is almost as bad, you didn’t see his face when I introduced Mark. Tosser.” Smoke is still looking at her, a fond smile on his lips which only grows when she rolls her eyes and stomps off. “Walk away, I know. Not worth my time and efforts, I won’t change their minds anyway, no need to force a confrontation, blah blah. I know.”

Mute’s heart continues melting when Smoke just laughs and captures his daughter in a hug to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Now all you gotta do is translate your knowledge into actions, sweetie. And Niall is someone whose opinion you can influence – you’re friends with him after all. Those lads outside? Worthless. They won’t listen.”

“I guess.” She doesn’t seem appeased but at least she’s not stewing anymore. While they scour the aisles for the unhealthiest breakfast they can find (Smoke insisted on a full English), she turns to Mute, curious. “Did you have to deal with crap like that a lot?”

“I won’t lie, outfits like this increase the frequency drastically.” She snorts yet seems to understand it’s a topic on which he’d rather not elaborate – in time, she’s become adept at reading him and leaving him alone if he’s slightly uncomfortable. It’s just one of the many reasons why he likes her so much.

If he’s honest, he’s on Charlie’s side, but fully understands where Smoke is coming from: she’s a teenager and while she’s capable of defending herself, a bunch of drunken men is too much for her to take on. Despite her tough attitude, she hasn’t developed a skin thick enough to not let hateful comments get to her either, and Smoke would rather she get angry than be riddled with self-doubts.

Regardless. If it was for Mute, he’d at the very least have given them a show for free. Just out of spite. Spite is a great motivator.

“You go get the eggs, we’ll fetch some toast”, Smoke suddenly decides and directs Charlie to the back of the store while dragging Mute with him to the front, ignoring his weak protests.

“We have more than enough toast”, Mute gets out just before he’s dragged past the bread aisle and pressed against the glass front, warm lips capturing his and a tongue pushing its way inside his mouth immediately. He’s always ready to make out with his boyfriend, no matter how little sleep they’ve gotten, no matter whether his dress is riding up and clearly exposing Smoke groping his arse, no matter whether anyone can see them, but this comes a little unexpected.

Then he understands. Anyone can see them. And so he starts kissing back with the appropriate enthusiasm.

Both of them are grinning when they separate, and maybe they’re overdoing it a little with Mute slapping Smoke’s arse so loudly it actually echoes and Smoke blowing the stupefied blokes outside a kiss, but neither of them care.

“You’re the most hypocritical dad I know”, Mute mutters as they hurry back to reduce suspicion, “and somehow she still turned out fine.”

“And you are the second best dad I know.”

“After yourself?” Smoke wordlessly beams at him. “Of course after yourself. Why did I even ask.”

.

By the time they’re leaving, the drunkards have disappeared and Charlie seems to have forgotten all about them anyway, bragging about how she managed to win a bet against Niall about how many marshmallows they could fit in their mouths. As Smoke is returning their cart and leaves them to put their groceries in the car, Mute can’t help but reference the earlier topic: “Be prepared if you actually want to confront him about his views, Charl. He might not take it well.”

“Oh I kinda expect him to go mental. But that’s okay. I’ll just date his sister.” And a wink conveys that this is meant to be a secret between the two of them, for now.

Mute just shakes his head. He could’ve met Charlie on her own, without ever knowing who she is, and he would’ve guessed her to be related to Smoke in some way. Like father, like daughter.

Not that he’s complaining. In fact, he’s looking forward to making breakfast with his two favourite people in the world. He’d just… prefer to get changed beforehand.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

rhinestone eyes

PAIRING: Rich Boy!Eren x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS [present+future]: infidelity, dubcon, gaslighting, manipulative and toxic behavior, toxic relationship, sexual content, yandere tendencies, suggestive hand-holding

part one

kofi

There's a sneer on Eren's face as green eyes behind Versace aviators glide over your form, staring you up and down. His gaze is so penetrative, it makes your teeth chatter. Maybe he was just checking you out. Maybe he was scrutinizing every blemish.

You suddenly feel so very small in your tennis skirt, the tight collared shirt stretching over your breasts, and wished that today out of all days wasn't when you decided to dress a little more stylish.

"Fancy seeing you here." His voice is nonchalant but there's a tone of humor that accompanies his brisk words. How long would it be until he laughs at you?

He scowls, "Are you mute or something? Why aren't you greeting me back properly?"

"Eren," You took a deep breath, "What are you doing in Paris?"

It occurs to you that you've never seen him out of his uniform before. He's wearing a light blue button-down, half the buttons left unfastened, polo shorts, an expensive black watch glittering on his wrist, silver rings on his slender fingers, and a thin silver chain dangling around his neck.

He's also acquired a new piercing, industrial, judging by the bar across his ear. The silver glints harshly under the sun.

"Are you done burning holes through me?"

You blush, embarrassment coloring your cheeks: "No, I'm just surprised." You tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear, "Didn't expect to run into anyone I knew in another country."

You were just taking a pleasant walk in the acclaimed Champs-Élysées, the avenue every bit as a picture-perfect postcard as it had been described.

"Have you eaten?" The question is spoken with a sigh like he couldn't believe he was asking you this, and you couldn't either.

"Oh, um, no?" You responded, bewildered.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, which reached the nape of his neck by now: "I know a cafe around here. Let's get brunch. We'll talk there."

You don't know what possessed you to nod but you did so, trying to match his quick and long strides. The walk was silent, presumably because the two of you were saving your burning questions for the cafe.

He rolls his eyes when you stutter through your French. He raises a hand, and simply tells the waiter his order and dismisses him. His French is flawless and you're tempted to ask him how it's so good, but you already know the answer. Probably had hordes of tutors to help him.

Merci Monsieur

"Wait," You remark to Eren, "I didn't order."

"I ordered for us. Pain au chocolate, savory crepes, eggs, and ham. Coffee after. For me. Hot chocolate for you because you don't drink coffee."

Oh. That actually sounds good. How did he know your beverage preferences?

He fishes out a cigarette from his pocket, skinny and hand-rolled, "So what are you doing here? No offense but you don't exactly seem like you can afford a vacation to France. "

Now is your turn to sigh. You've nearly forgotten how blunt he could be: "Here on an internship. For art" You supply.

"I assume you just regularly come to Paris every summer?"

He doesn't deny or verify your statement, "Something like that."

"So you're staying at a hostel or?" He asks, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that makes your nose wrinkle.

The waiter comes by with food, and you turn to Eren with a sour look, "I sincerely hope you're not going to smoke while we're eating."

To your utter surprise, he ashes the cigarette. You were expecting a witty and mean retort at the very minimum, not silent compliance.

You pick up the earlier conversation, "Well, I'm actually staying with my boyfriend." You mummer the last word quietly but the viridian-eyed boy's ears are keen. You don't notice how his grip on the knife tightens.

"You're staying with your boyfriend?" He repeats.

You nod, "Yeah, he's an art student too."

The rest of the meal is completed in sparing small-talk and lengths of silence. But it's not awkward. It's weird. On one hand, having brunch with Eren Yeager in fucking Paris, heir to a billionaire pharmaceutical company should feel surreal, but it's strangely peaceful. You feel more at peace sitting across from him in France than you did when he sat next to you in homeroom.

When it's time to pay the check, Eren looks amused by the very notion of you digging into your purse.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lady pay?" His words are spoken with a teasing smile.

You roll your eyes but can't help a glimmer of a smile from peeking through on your lips, "Didn't take you much for a gentleman."

He tosses his black card on the bill, "You'd be surprised."

What's there left to do now? Is it time to part ways? There's a part of you that craves more but life has taught you to not be greedy when you already have so so much.

You dabble the corner of your lips with a napkin, "Well, this has been fun-"

"Wait, uh, do you wanna check out the Louvre? Since you're an art student and all, you might uh enjoy it."

You stare at him. Is he tongue-tied?

"You've probably there been a million times already."

"Yeah...but you haven't been, right?"

You blink before breaking into a smile that Eren is sure is going to give him heart palpations, so sunny and bright.

"I would love to!"

You guys check out Mona Lisa for the sheer novelty, and you're bouncing around the museum, oohing and ahhing at the chiseled statues and Renaissance paintings. There is so much history here, it blows your mind.

Eren finds himself watching you more than the paintings. You have this veneer of snark that you wrap around yourself like a protective gauze (maybe that's how you maintain your survival in a world of hyenas) but you're different now.

You're yourself. Watching you here come alive in unbridled enthusiasm, eyes widened in passion, makes him reach out to his pocket and fish for his disposable film camera. He doesn't know if he's ever seen anyone in his vapid life look like the way you do, so filled with a zest for things that are greater than themselves.

He wants to burn you into his memory, praying to all the gods that you won't notice when he takes a picture of you admiring a bust of a goddess. He slyly tucks his camera back into his pocket.

The world seems to stand still when you tug his hand to show him a painting, an expression of unadulterated wonder on your face. But when you realize you pulled his hand, you immediately drop it like hot coals.

Why do you look so worried? Why do you look so scared?

"You can hold my hand if you want. It's-it's okay." He can't believe he's gotten the words out.

You're taking too long, your hands still hanging limply by your side, an indiscernible expression on your pretty face. Eren doesn't understand why it makes him so mad, why your sudden hesitation grated his nerves. Deciding to make your choice for you, he grabs your hand, squeezing your palm as he flashes you the charismatic smile that's got him out of countless incidents.

He doesn't like the expression of worry marring your features. Where did the happy jovial girl go? Just a few seconds, you were poking him with sparkles in your eyes, "Look at this Eren!" and "So beautiful, right?"

He forces another smile: "Show me the painting you wanted me to see." Maybe it was meant to be a request but it comes out as a demand.

You cast a glance at your joined hands, his grip borderline painful. "O-okay."

You lead him across the floor, and Eren can feel the stares of people around him. They are smiling. An older woman utters a "Un si charmant couple."

You take him to a grand painting. It's haunting and dark, swirling with so many shades of dusty red from vermillion to scarlet. A pregnant woman lies reclined, arm hanging and head lolling. She appears to be asleep, and there is a cacophony of men around her portrayed in varying degrees of stress.

"Death of a virgin", you breathed.

Such a macabre name, Eren thought as he gazed longer into the painting. He loosens his grip on your hand, testing whether you would pull away.

You don't.

It's raining outside and you're giggling.

"Fuck" Eren swears, "I'll call a cab."

You're a vision drenched in rain. Your clothes are soaked, and he could see the outline of your bra from your thin shirt. But it seems like you don't even care.

"Let's just enjoy it!" You cry out. There are thick droplets stuck in between your eyelashes, and you smell like rain too. It's dangerous, he can see chords of purple lightning flash the sky, thunder booming, and it's like you're dancing, the way you move so effortlessly.

You hook his hands in yours, "Doesn't this feel good?"

He feels like all his sins are being washed away, all the impurities and muck that clung onto him after nineteen years of existence. His heart nearly jumps out of his throat every time he looks at you.

He cups your chin and kisses you. When he feels the threadbare resistance, he kisses harsher, tongue and teeth swallowing your protests, coaxing your mouth open with a skillful pinch to your nipple. He pulls away just before you feel like all your breath has been robbed.

You're stunned speechless, "Eren...I...h-have a boyf-"

He kisses you again. And this time you kiss back, holding nothing back.

taglist: @candy-hime @cinnamon-n-roses @forwardpair

inspo: @candy-hime's rich boy!shoto. the iconic golf club one <3