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Jennifer's Body

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her footsteps were distinct. heavy. she was exhausted. so exhausted that she didn’t even notice your presence as she walked to her dresser, removing the cream colored sweater she wore. the muscles of her shoulder move like ripples in a lake as she takes off her bra. even in the dark you could see her ivory skin. clear enough that you could look through it and into where her heartbeat slowed. she felt safe. 

you almost feel bad. feel bad when she flops down onto the sheets you’ve stained with blood. feel bad when her body tenses as your palm hovers over her bicep. feel bad as her breath hitches, the sensation of your skin on hers registering in her mind.

you feel a little less bad when the fight or flight kicks in. not surprising that she chose fight. so now you’re pinned to her mattress by either shoulder, look of stun turning to one of amusement as you realize how convenient her instincts are. although you can't hear her, you know she disagrees, but the heavy breath and laxing of her brows shows you the relief is there. 

she rolls her eyes before crawling off you, palms hitting her forehead as she sits beside you. 

“thought that was heading somewhere else.” you jab, sitting up from where you lay. her head lifts, a slight scowl on her face. you don’t bother to hide it. 

“you can’t just come here whenever you w-“ and then her eyes travel down, catching the dark red that looked even darker when there was nothing but diluted moonlight to shine on it.

“what is that? is that blood?” she sounds curious, worried--but not shocked. she wasn’t a fucking idiot. you knew she knew. or at least had a rough idea. you smile at her observance.

“what if it was?” you tease. 

“who…?” she barely asks. she didn’t want to know the answer. her hands were shaking. you weren’t going to give her that information. ruin her night so soon. not until she at least got a taste of what you felt. 

you push up to stand on your knees, crawling to where she curled up in a state of anxiety. you hoped she’d believe your intentions were to soothe it, but instead she’s scooting away. you grab her wrist before she can give you any verbal protest.

“i’m not going to hurt you.” you say it softly as you sit in front of her. she’s staring at you over the bend of her knees. looks so fucking scared, but you can tell she’s trying to be strong. her head falls, eyes giving up the hold on you and retreating to her lap. she still has one hand hugging her legs, so you grab that one as well. you stroke her knuckles with your thumb, calming the storm you’d caused.

“mikasa.” you whisper, nurture in your voice. “look at me, baby.”

and she does. she always loved it when you called her like that. it warms her, and she feels okay again. okay enough to keep her gray eyes on yours as she squeezes your palms. the gaze you share is so blissful, but even more ignorant. her eyes start to travel down, down to where your lips pout in sympathy. her hand leaves yours.

“blood.” she whispers as her thumb dabs the corner of your mouth. you let her sit with it. let her get used to what it is that you’re becoming to her. she strays from the corner, bringing the red with her, smearing it across where you’d worked so hard to wipe clean. you hear her breath quicken, but before she can retreat, her wrist is back in your hand, being held in place against you. her eyes go back to yours.

you pull her hand back, just enough to see where you stained her pale skin. something about it was bittersweet. the blood looked so vibrant. it complimented her hue. like the color was made for her. but it was a tarnish. a poison maybe. something that was corrupting her. it had warmth brewing in you. still, the sick pleasure wasn’t something you wanted to entertain. you wanted to wash her clean from whatever it was that you’d dirtied her with.

she gasps when you pull her hand back to your mouth. her eyes stay with yours as her thumb slides between your lips. the pad of her finger hits your tongue. the taste of blood with it, but all you can focus on is the taste of her. you suck until you can’t taste the metal anymore. and then suck some more. just to fill yourself with it.

“what are you doing?” she asks. so nervous. voice high like she’s terrified of the answer. your eyes open. you hadn’t realized that they’d closed. her hand retreats to her body, your own chasing after it, landing at her jaw.

“...have you ever kissed anyone?” you ask. your voice is too low to be innocent. her brows furrow in confusion.

“dumb question. you’ve kissed me.” you don’t bother elaborating on the sloppy drunk makeouts. “but have you kissed him?”

she hesitates, but her head shakes nonetheless. you push a little closer. you want to see her eyes. her eyes always gave away her lies.

“i’m your best friend. you can tell me these things, mikasa.” it’s genuine. how could she lie to you when you were right in front of her, calm and collected, asking her genuinely. she swallows right before the nod.

you know she expects you to be angry. to call her a slut or a whore or whatever it was you always said when she talked to someone who wasn’t you. but you don’t. you don’t have anything to be angry about. she’s yours.

and she knows it when your grip on her draw tightens, pulling her forward as you meet her right over the bend of her knees. it’s uncomfortable, but she keeps pushing forward. you try to treat her gently, soft swipes at her lip with your tongue while you move against her, but she’s greedy. she repositions, shifting her knees to press into the mattress as she sits on her ankles. her hands go to your thighs, fingernails digging in as she just keeps pushing. and you let her. her strength is nice. nice to be pushed so easily backwards. nice to feel her protective presence over you as you fall to her pillows.

your hand moves down, playing with the waistband of her pants. you were ready to just take it without a second thought. but the poor thing got spooked. 

“wait.” she whispers it, resting her forehead on yours. you look up at her closed eyes, hands coming to her shoulders, squeezing them every time her breath shakes.

“what is it, baby.” and, like a charm, she opens her eyes to you again, an admiring, yearning look in them.

“i’ve nev-... you know that i’ve never…” you give her a glance of understanding, moving one of your hands to cup her cheek, nodding softly.

“i’ll help you.” you almost laugh. she was on top of you, kissing you harder than you could process, and you were about to help her.

you move the hand that’s not on her cheek to the hem of her shirt. she meets you there with one of hers.

“first…” you watch as your hand cups hers, guiding her to pull the fabric up her torso. “...you take this off.”

the fabric falls from her head. you pull the sleeves from her arms before tossing it to the ground. one hand goes back to support her body, with her forearm moving to cover her bare breasts. you grip where her elbow creases.

“i’ve seen it before.” you assure her as you pull her arm back. and god they’re pretty, falling soft. pale skin with light penny-colored nipples tasting so sweet when you pull her down far enough for her tits to sit comfortably on your lips. she gasps. then she whines. you can hear her breath hovering just above your head. your hands slide up and down her back, squeezing the warm skin as you pull her closer. eventually her torso breaks the six inch gap with your chest, and she’s grinding her hips up and down as you kiss and bite at the silky lumps of fat you smother yourself with.

you let one of your hands stray down to her hips before gliding over the fabric of her sweats. your other hand continues handling her breast as you grab at her ass, pulling the fat of each as you make out curses from above.

your hand moves lower, situating itself between her legs. you can feel the warmth through the thick fabric that covers her cunt. feels like it’s drawing you in. you push. it was barely any pressure, but she’s moaning, hips shifting to allow you closer. 

you could tell how wound up she was. how much she needed you to touch her. so when that moan is the last sound you hear from her, you’re confused. she lets out a huff before flipping beside you. back to sitting on her calves as she loses control of her panicking nerves. you follow after her.

“are you o-” 

“you’re fucking covered in blood.” she spits.

“i told you i wouldn’t hurt you.” you sigh with annoyance. she just stares.

“who?” she tries to be more stern this time.

“it doesn’t matter.” you shake your head, grabbing ahold of her jaw once again.

“why won’t you tell me?” she asks. she doesn’t pull away as you continue closer.

“because i’m not thinking about them right now. i’m only thinking about you.” she starts to lean back, spreading her thighs as one of yours comes between them. her eyes are sad as she looks up at you, brows turned up like a dog begging for table scraps. her head meets the pillow, and your voice becomes a whisper. 

“i will tell you about the guy that hit on you at that little cafe, though.” you give her a small smile with the tease. her eyes look to be glossed with fear, but the way her hips shift upwards tells you a different story. your hand skips over her breasts this time, going straight for her cunt.

“and the guy from your english course that you couldn’t stop gushing about.” her panties are all wet. you feel it as you finally slip below the waistband of her pants, cupping her through the soft cotton. you can hear--feel her breathing get faster. you push your head down until your lips nearly brush into hers.

“and the waiter who couldn’t stop staring at your tits when i took you out to eat. the one who wrote his phone number on our bill.” you’re testing her, opening your mouth with each vowel in a way that invites her in. her lungs fill with air every time you make her think you’re about to kiss her, lips parting as she pushes forward, sharp exhales rolling out. her hand moves to hold the back of your neck. “i made sure he died slow.”

you see a tear fall before she’s pulling you down to her. you take the submission as an opportunity to move her panties to the side. she gasps into your mouth when the pad of your middle finger slides against her clit. she’s so fucking warm and puffy. peaking out and begging for it. she has a sensitivity to her that makes it clear she’d never been touched like this before. it makes your own arousal stir. your hips push back on her thigh before you come up for air.

“really killed for you and you’re not even gonna finger fuck me.” you pant it with a smile. she gives you a look of stun before scrambling her way through your tangled limbs to situate her hand at your lower stomach. you smile. 

she goes for the button of your jeans at the same time you do. it’s clumsy and inefficient, but after a few position changes you’re back to straddling her thigh in nothing but your underwear and a flimsy tanktop. you can tell she’s running on adrenaline when she slips her hand under your panties without hesitation. you lean back down to kiss her again, hips rising to give her hand room to rub your clit with as much precision as someone so naive and inexperienced could have.

the hand that's not between her legs moves back to her breast, squeezing it while you kiss down her jaw.

“take your shirt off.” she breathes. you pull back to look at her. she was telling you what to do. your pathetic, virgin best friend was telling you to show her your tits. and you were doing it. 

she pushes up once your breasts fall from the fabric. her eyes don’t close as she paints the skin with her tongue and lips, instead looking up at you. with that view, you can’t fucking help but push down on the finger sitting right at your entrance. she hums into your skin once she’s inside. your warmth pulls her, urging her to curl once her knuckles hit the crease of your ass. 

the absence of you on her own cunt is painful. she’s left mindlessly bucking her hips into nothing as you bounce yourself on top of her. its fucking torture. she pulls off in a hurry, a string of spit connecting her mouth and your nipple. 

“i- i need…-” she stutters, looking down to where your hips grind themselves into her fingers.

“what?” your hand comes to her hair, tangling in her scalp as you pull her head up to look at you.

“what do you need, baby?” you see the switch in her gaze. something unsure and ashamed to something feral. all you hear is a strained fuck before you’re on your back, mikasa shuffling out of her sweatpants with the help of one hand while the other continues pushing into you. she doesn’t bother asking for help, instead mimicking your previous position, one of your thighs between both of hers.

she kisses you again before she allows herself an intermission. but eventually she slows, pulling her fingers from your cunt. she looks down between your bodies at the shiny coating to them.

“taste it.” you almost giggle at the look she gives you. you nod at her, walking her through the process.

you wish you hadn’t, though. because you fucking whine when you look up to see her taking her fingers into her mouth. lewd sucking noises paired with her hums. her eyes falling shut in enjoyment. it's pathetic, but your hips push up. you can’t even stop them. she looked too fucking good.

when your abdomen contracts, and your lower half tilts up, mikasa feels it. she feels it on her cunt as yours slides against it. it fucking breaks her. you hear the moan, see her look to where your body has stimulated her. her finger leaves her mouth, traveling down to where all her attention is focused.

you think she’s going to finger you again when you feel her pull the fabric to the side--but instead she grabs your hand, replacing it with her own, having you continue to reveal yourself to her as she does the same thing to her own panties.

she didn’t even have the patience to take them off. so fucking needy that you’re left fisting a fabric in your hand as she rubbed her soaked cunt onto yours. her bare cunt. its fucking slick and messy, but you’re both able to find enough friction to fill the room with eachothers moans.

she fucks against you with so much determination. it’s not enough, though. she tries to find ways to get more, hooking her hand under your knee, pulling it up so she can get closer. you can feel every fold on your clit, the sensation making you buck into her with so much force. it almost made you sore.

“you’re a…-” she starts. her head falls but her hips keep rocking back and forth. she sounds defeated, even as her body approaches a finish line.

“you’re a murderer.” it’s punctuated by a whine caused by a harsher thrust.

there wasn’t anything for you to say. “yeah.”

“i’m… with a murderer.” she can’t even say it. god you wanna fucking kiss her. kiss her to make her shut up--but also just because you wanted it.

“you’re what?” you ask. you want to hear her say it. want to watch the guilt ravish her. but she just stays quiet.

“you’re fucking a murder? letting a murderer take what they want from your virgin pussy? s’that what you wanted to say, baby?” even just as a breath, your words were mean. you don’t know if she’s about to cry or cum from the whine she gives. but the oh god you hear from her, and the clenching of her cunt that you feel tells you that the latter is more likely.

“fuck… don’t say that. ‘m gonna-... fuck.” she can’t finish her sentence as the whiny sobs take over. sounds like a bitch in heat as she humps you wildly. but you’re no better. your hands go to either side of her torso, one resting at her back while the other feels around her slightly sweat-damn abs. you try to hold her as close as possible as your hips keep pushing into yours, watching her tits bounce with every slide against your cunt.

she cums before you, gripping onto your knee, thigh and arm as she repeats curses with her squeaky fucked out voice. you ignore the cries as you use her to get yourself off. her cum lubricates you as you grab her ass. she falls, head resting half on your shoulder and half on her pillow case while you thrust against her raw cunt.

“i can’t…- fuck… i can’t. please.” she sobs, gripping onto the sheets while you use her like a toy.

“just a few more seconds.” it comes out as a beg.

you watch the way your hands slide as you pull at her ass, the red marks it leaves behind--and you can’t help but pull your hand back. listening to the way the slap fills the room, followed by her pained cry and the jiggle of her fat has your orgasm rolling in. you bite your lip to hold back the desperate moans, but it’s pointless.

your thighs squeeze around her as it hits you. you no longer move your body to grind into her, but your hips still buck. you nearly overstimulate yourself from the subconscious motions.

her grip releases once you release from your final thrust, but the soft cries don’t end. it’s like music to your ears as the clarity washes over you. you did it. you were the one that got to have her. that got to take this from her. not the guy from the cafe. not the guy from her english class. not the waiter. and not him

it was you. and now she was yours.

you wait until her breath evens to try and say something. to tell her she did good. but you're interrupted by a piercing ring. the ceiling glows from the screen of her phone. her shaky hand reaches for the bedside table.

you see the number. it takes a minute, but you recognize who’s it is. you almost tell her not to pick up, but the part of you that wants to watch her crumble holds back.

“hello?” she asks. her voice is sweet, like she was expecting him to reply.

“...what?” you hear the shock. you can’t help but smile.

she turns back to you. eyes wide with anger. grief. betrayal. it didn’t matter, though. you’d already taken what you needed. already taken what he wanted so badly.

“eren’s dead."