Chapter Text
eren was going crazy. insane. by the end of the year – and the end of his lease with jean – he was certain he’d be deranged, fucked up enough to warrant more self medication in ways he hadn’t practiced since college.
and to whom did he owe his mental decay?
well, none other than you, of course. little ole you.
of course, your name wasn’t on the lease. you didn’t live there, but you might as well have. whatever witchcraft you pulled on his roommate must’ve been some heavy shit, because jean was wrapped around your finger tighter than a fucking vice. and it grated eren’s nerves like no other.
he’d hear you, wherever you were. it’s not that you had a particularly loud voice, it just… caught him, nudged in his ears like they’d been trained to pick it out in a crowd. and you’d be laughing, giggling, singing, cooing, being disgustingly romantic and in love and annoying. eren hated it. he hated you.
and he’d hear you at night, in jean’s room. mewling and moaning and crying out every now and then – did you have no shame? didn’t you know eren was down the hall? this was the most annoying part of your relationship with his roommate. this was the part that made eren grip his desk with white knuckles, seething and grating and … and attentive. at first, he tried to block it out. blast music or some netflix show or even go for a drive, just to get away from your fucking siren voice.
but… he felt it. an ache, an almost distant throb from his heart down to his lap, something that surprised him as much as it disgusted him.
was he really getting hard listening to his roommate’s girlfriend? listening to him fuck her?
eren had to admit, if he stripped away his general annoyance for you and your presence, you sounded… fucked out. blissed. obscene. if the apartment was quiet enough, if he managed to have poor (or maybe good?) timing and happened to make his way toward the bathroom at just the right time, he could hear it all: breaths, praises, instructions, the sound of skin against skin or the wet squelch of your arousal.
he hated it as much as he hated you. fisting his cock to your sounds, picturing your pussy wrapped around him and your eyes rolled back and your plump lips parted in a desperate moan – one meant for him, not jean.
right, jean.
he treated you well. fuck, more than well. he treated you like a fucking princess. eren supposed that’s what you were; that’s what the brunette called you between your moans, between his own shaky breaths.
“fuck, princess, so fucking tight,” eren heard jean curse, followed by a slap of some sort, and he cringed.
just… shut up, don’t talk, let me hear her.
he wanted to hear you.
and eren would cum, shoot some ungodly amount of sticky white onto his own stomach muscles and immediately feel the heavy blanket of regret fall over his tensed form. eren lolled his head back, groaning at himself.
post-nut clarity, nothing like it.
but still, this little charade continued. you were a needy thing, it seemed, getting fucked into the mattress almost every night. eren wondered if jean was just that good, or perhaps the opposite: unable to fully satisfy you, so you keep begging for more, hoping to chase that release that seemed just out of grasp.
eren could fuck you. eren could do better. surely better than jean, and most likely better than any other dick you’ve sat on. eren could claim you, ruin anyone else for you, satisfy you and keep you coming back for more.
if only he didn’t hate you.
though, that deep, looming cloud of displeasure gave way about three days into the oddest week eren jaeger had experienced in a long while.
you weren’t there.
not hogging the shower, not raiding their fridge, not hiding away in jean’s room. you simply weren’t in eren’s apartment, but the ghost of you still lingered in his mind. he tried to shake it away when he spied jean sprawled on the couch, zoning out and playing some shooter game on the xbox.
“where’s your pet pussy?” eren called, feigning disinterest as he moseyed into the kitchen. jean grumbled from the living room. “don’t call her that,” he stated flatly, but continued after a long breath, “we’re… kind of taking a break, i guess.”
eren closed the fridge. “so she dumped you.”
jean scoffed, thumbs flicking away at the controller with much more vitriol than before. “no, dumbass, she didn’t dump me. i told her i needed some space, y'know… figure things out.” he didn’t tear his gaze away from the tv, even after his character died and crumpled to the ground in a pathetic heap. eren reckoned the man probably resonated with those pixels at the moment.
“figure what out? dude, you’re twenty-six, not fifteen.”
“just… shut the fuck up, jaeger, i don’t wanna talk about it.” jean navigated back to the home screen and tossed the controller onto the couch beside him. “i’m gonna take a shower.”
watching him skulk off, eren stayed quiet. he waited for the sound of the faucet, waited for the water spray before he moved again.
the couch. jean left his phone on the couch.
eren swiped it up, cringing at the lockscreen that still had some sweet sunny picture of you stretched across it. your eyes crinkled at the corners with your smile absolutely stealing the show, fingers gently pinching a flower jean had likely picked for you. he was cheesy like that. romantic, down right gross in that aspect, which was why eren didn’t buy the story he was fed. but he didn’t care why you broke up – err, why you were “taking a break” – he unlocked jean’s phone with your birth date (again, gross) and began his dutiful search.
despite jean’s claims for space, you were still everywhere. his lockscreen, his wallpaper, there was a photo widget that played a slideshow of nothing but you and jean together. fuck, your contact name was still “wifey” with two different kinds of hearts. eren felt himself grow ill.
but, weirdly enough, seeing your face again felt rather cathartic, even if it was busy being kissed by his horseface roommate.
after stealing your number, eren gave into the morbid curiosity biting at his heels. he snooped into your messages with jean.
first of all, why did you have so many texts if you were practically joined at the hip already? second, you hadn’t replied to jean since the last day you were in their apartment. secondhand embarrassment flooded eren’s body as he read every pathetic little message jean tried to shoot your way, eventually closing his eyes to save himself the grief.
with the water shutting off, eren tossed the phone back to where he found it. he got what he needed and then some.
so, perhaps jean was telling the truth. perhaps he did say he needed space, and particularly, to “figure things out.” turns out neither eren nor you knew what that meant, but it didn’t matter. what mattered was that you were upset, rightfully so, and eren was familiar with a rather fitting saying: a shoulder to cry on is a dick to ride on.
and fuck, you were good at it.
his fingers dug into the fat of your ass, spreading you open so you could split yourself on his cock again. and again. and again.
turns out you really were a needy thing; your pussy sucked him in, welcoming him home, despite this being the closest you’d ever been before. and you couldn’t get much closer if you tried, holding eren to your heaving chest and molding your bodies together like artists clay. little baby hairs stuck to his forehead, glued with sweat. he mouthed over your chest. lifted you and fucked up into you and pushed as many lewd sounds as he could from your kiss-swollen mouth.
you pleaded out, body alight with every kiss and groan he pressed against your skin. “fuck me, fuck me– ah!–” your fingers gripped into his messy hair, against the base of his head like they didn’t belong anywhere else.
“like that? like it when i stuff you full of my dick?”
eren grumbled when you clenched around him, groaned when your bouncing stuttered, but he kept you moving, sliding up and down his dick like a fuck toy. your cunt gripped him, spasming and massaging and coaxing out everything he could offer.
“fuckin’ milk me, baby, milk my cock,” he groaned, bringing down a hand to slap your ass, again and again until he was sure there’d be a handprint – a reminder that he was there, as if you’d need one.
you cried out in his lap, overly sensitive and melting into a puddle as he rutted against you. the complete fullness between your legs and in your core was different, so different than jean fucking you. they were of similar size – jean was a bit thicker than he was long – but jean always fucked you like he wanted to impress you. it was intoxicating; the feeling of being wanted.
eren, however, fucked you like he was desperate to. and this, too, was intoxicating; the feeling of being needed.
“oh, fuck, ’m gonna cum,” eren groaned into your chest, against your skin as you still held him there. cunt fluttering, you gripped his hair again and yanked back, forcing him to look up at you with hazy jade eyes. “y'gonna cum in me, ‘ren?” you cooed over the sound of your skin slapping together. eren clenched his jaw so tight you were nervous he’d crack a tooth. the eye contact was hard, blazing, as he grumbled beneath you, “gonna fill your pussy, gonna make it mine.”
he panted, deep, needy gulps of air after burying himself to the very hilt inside you. he wasn’t sure how you fit all of him, how you took him so well, but fuck, he was more than grateful. that gratitude threatened to leak out of you and slather your thighs once you dismounted his lap with jelly legs.
you offered him a crooked smile, looking rather relaxed as you kissed his sweat slicked forehead.
this was usually about when he’d get dressed in the same clothes he wore over, comb a hand through his hair, offer a kiss or two and make himself scarce. however, eren found himself contemplating something he never thought he’d have to waste brain power on: he understood jean kirstein more than ever before.
not that bullshit he gave you about taking a break, whatever that was. no, he understood why the man was so fucking whipped in the first place, so deliriously under your control it made eren gag sometimes.
eren also understood more about himself, he realized, watching you totter away to grab a towel for him. and it pissed him off, deep down.
he didn’t hate you. not really. he hated you and jean, together.
because fuck if he ever heard a more beautiful sound than your almost shy giggle when you reentered the room, greeted with the sight of him leaned back on both palms, softening dick still glistening with a mixture of your orgasms.
“um, i’m on birth control, just so you know. not that you were very concerned about it to begin with.”
and eren rolled his eyes, a near wolfish grin growing on its own. “i don’t think you realize how many times i’ve heard you beg jean to cum in you,” cleaning himself up, he missed the way you stiffened, but didn’t miss the little squeak that sounded out over his dirty words, “and something tells me you weren’t exactly trying to expand the family.”
eren was always so brash, so bold with his words. even then in your strangely muddled post-orgasm bliss, he came off as nothing short of sure, in everything he said and did. it was as endearing as it was agitating.
“shut up. i don’t even wanna hear his name right now.” you replied, scoffing in what sounded like disgust, and glanced toward your hallway. “i’m gonna hop in the shower. you can make yourself at home,” you drawled out, getting caught in a thoughtful pause once eren perked a brow at you, but continued regardless, “or, head home, whatever you want.” it would be too embarrassing to expect him to stay if he just wanted a quick fuck. it’s not like you were dating, or anything close to it.
he came over, you complained about jean together, he… somehow… ended up inside of you, and that’s that. sometimes that’s all it is.
saving yourself from being stranded in his heavy gaze, you made off toward your bathroom just across the hall and found peace inside it–
which lasted all of five minutes. the door creaked open, startling you under the hot spray of water.
“relax, babe, s'just me.”
some tiny shred deep inside expected it to be jean. it always was before; except, y'know, you would be in his shower and not yours, but that’s beside the point.
no, instead, it was eren. and he peeled back the shower curtain to smirk at you.
“not really ready to head home yet.” he smoothed, sounding so casual as you both stood stark naked, “mind if i join?”
because, no, he didn’t hate you. he didn’t hate you then, he didn’t hate you now, with his fingers massaging sweet shampoo into your hair.
he hated the situation you three were locked into, and it just got far more interesting, in the worst ways.