Bongi

14 MAY, SIX MONTHS AFTER THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION

“i mean, it sounds stupid now, but…you should’ve seen the man.” mikasa said, her face screwed up in a scary smugness. “from my perspective, at least. it was like…” she took a big gulp of sparkling water down her throat, and chewed on some ice cubes to wash it down. hurt channeled at the network of veins on her neck, and you still hadn’t quite processed the fact that you were the cause for it.  “it was like night and day.”

***

14 SEPTEMBER, TWO MONTHS BEFORE THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION 

“and ms. (y/n), who exactly are you wearing tonight?”

no matter how he tried, eren just couldn’t help the way he stared as you smoothed your hands over the skirt of your dress. it was pink, and just the right shade—the kind that reminded him of soft cotton candy melting on his tongue. the beauty—the grandness—of your ensemble was akin to walking through an entire forest of showering cherry blossoms.

“none other than mugler, of course.” you responded, flashing the oh so lucky reporter an award-winning smile. despite evening shadows that had begun dusting against his front lawn, the flush of crimson crawling over the collar of his leather jacket and peeking at the top of his neck was striking. 

what was he doing? there was an onslaught of guests piling in—all ranging from a-list celebrities to politicians with enough influence to make or break his campaign at any given moment. eren supposed he should care. and he was really, really trying to. had you not been so you, or had he not been so stupid, simply looking at you wouldn’t be such a strain. then, as quickly as that thought crossed his mind, he condemned himself for even allowing it to. he was the reason for his unfaithfulness (or, more technically speaking, his desire to be unfaithful). 

it was he who had fought tooth and nail with his very own resolve after each and every one of your phone calls, trying to keep his hands above the buckle of his belt long enough to rationalize the thoughts coursing through his head. it was he who, no matter how he tried, couldn’t find the will to fight those same temptations under the cold spray of shower water—tugging his painfully erect cock until the faint whisper of your name left his lips and the remnants of his disloyalty trickled down the shower walls. it was eren who wouldn’t be able to get the sound of your laugh out of his head even if he struck it against those same shower walls forever.

just as eren began to take his eyes off you, they landed on his wife, who was just scurrying past nearby and looked utterly delighted to see him. “ah, there you are!” mikasa’s hands found his, and she craned her neck up at him to receive a kiss on the cheek. in the time it took him to oblige her wish, her lips were in perfect position to whisper, “levi wants us to dance later.” against the shell of his ear. he understands then that his mission for tonight is to be married. he was going to sweep mikasa off her feet on the dance floor and laugh with her over a couple glasses of champagne. but first, he was going to kiss her on the cheek and tell her how radiant she looked, because that’s just what good husbands did.

***

“aren’t they cute?” hange cooed in your ear, their watchful eye turned subtly toward eren and mikasa. he was stamping a kiss over her cheek, and then spinning around to assess her outfit. if your lip reading skills served you well enough, he was saying something along the lines of, “you look amazing.”

upon catching mikasa’s diamond wedding ring glinting in the light of the setting sun as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, you briefly considered choking from the onslaught of bile climbing up your throat. “the cutest.” you chirped out instead. hanged snaked an arm around your waist a little tighter than usual, and you let them. you were gonna need it. “c’mon, i think the party’s heading inside.”

***

the jaeger ballroom was something of a spectacle. carved into the arched, sky high ceilings were designs so ornate they looked to be paintings. opulence filled the air, along with the chipper aroma of freshly poured champagnes and the staticky buzz of tipsy chatter. 

“i can have you five movie deals by the end of the night.” hange hypothesized aloud, their eyes hungrily scanning the throng of stars socializing about. 

“is now really the best time to be pimping me out?”

“honey, i can’t think of a better time than now.” their eyes lit up at the sight of an esteemed director laughing heartily over what couldn’t have been his first glass of champagne. “now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“oh, hange, please,” you half pleaded. the last thing you needed was to be alone with all your thoughts. 

hange only retracted their arm from the comfort of your waist and kissed at your temple. “you’re gonna thank me for this, don’t worry.”

you tried not to let your shoulders drop before the eyes of so many people as you carried yourself over to the bar. it was delightfully vacant and ensconced beneath just enough shadows to grant you a little bit of privacy. as you maneuvered yourself and your dress upon a chair, the memory of eren and mikasa gushing over one another poked and prodded at your brain incessantly, as if with the intention of making it explode behind your skull. 

you couldn’t help but wonder if the glances you two sneaked to one another in public, or the conversations shared during the late hours of the night, or the mutual feelings that surely plagued his thoughts as well as your own, were all just…that. a secret, an affair, a rendezvous. something dirty and scandalous and not meant to purge past the dark of night. 

who were you kidding? of course they were. no matter how little he loved his wife, (although, you couldn’t be a hundred percent sure eren didn’t love mikasa. and that made you feel a little sick) she would still be his wife. and you’d still be…well, you didn’t quite know. 

“hi.” came eren’s voice behind you, accompanied by a tap to your shoulder. you were so nestled within your head that you were hardly even startled. 

in a few lithe strides, he was standing in front of you. “hey, you,” he really did look so perfect tonight. and it didn’t help that he was looking at you like you were perfect too. “how’s your ball going?”

eren’s voice took on a joking air as he surveyed the area. “not too shabby, i’d say.” for whatever reason, when he brought his gaze back to you, they seemed as if they’d never leave. “what about you? what do you think?”

as you pondered over an answer to his question, you couldn’t help but notice the way he took the plush skin of his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before releasing the now smoothly damp, blushing flesh from its confines. only one word came to mind. “beautiful.”

at that, eren’s eyes pressed shut for a moment before opening again, seemingly miles brighter than before they closed. “that makes me happy to hear.” embarrassingly, your entire body warmed at the lower octave of his voice, and for a moment you hated that he could do this to you. “and, hey, speaking of beautiful things,” he nodded towards you, and if it were possible, his voice was even sexier when he said, “i haven’t been able to stop looking at you all night.”

somehow, your composure was still intact. “is that so?” 

“absolutely.” eren beamed. “if you’ll let me, i’d love a dance with you at some point.” 

as you took a moment to let his words seep into your skin as they always did, his attention was drawn to something on the other side of the room, and without much forewarning, he quickly said, “excuse me, (y/n).” before whisking away. 

***

“put your hands on my hips.” mikasa murmured, and then smiled politely when eren did. he hoped it wasn’t too painfully obvious to the onlookers that mikasa was skilled in ballroom dance and he was not. “everything’s going well. i’ve spoken with investors, and they’ve all seemed promising.”

eren whispered before spinning mikasa in a circle. “good to hear.”

they danced in silence for a few beats until mikasa said, “you could try and look at least somewhat in love.”

eren fought the urge to drop his smile, and spun mikasa into a dip. mikasa’s face came up flushed, smiling, and framed by a few out of place hairs. “really hard to do when you’re in my ear about investors.”

still beaming, she said between her teeth, “well, not everyone can just sit on their asses all day. one of us has to care about your career.” 

“god, you’re unbelievable.”

“am i wrong?”

the song ended, and the pair tried not to make it so obvious they were eager to get their hands off each other. eren could see a tangible effort put in by his wife to keep smiling, no matter how artificial, and he wasn’t sure whether he feared or admired it more.

***

you were out of there. from the moment he took mikasa’s hand and led her out to the dance floor. from the moment he twirled her body around in a graceful little circle. from the moment you watched them look into each other’s eyes in the way only a husband and wife did. you were so out of there.

sneaking away was easy. by now, everyone (including hange, who you could see had now taken to flirting with a random caterer) was drunk off their asses, and likely couldn’t tell you from a can of paint.

once you were outside, breathing began to feel manual. the diamonds around your neck were strangling. the jovial sounds of the party inside still rang in your ears. you weren’t far away enough. so, you ran. you ran through the vast, flourishing garden that lie behind the spacious property. you ran until the soles of your feet ached with each step. you ran until the memory of eren dancing with mikasa didn’t hurt so much.

you didn’t stop until you were in an area ensconced by trees. it’d have been completely dark if not for light emanating from the beaming moon. a tall stone fountain trickled nearby, and you wasted no time sitting on its edge. as your heart tried to climb out of your throat, a late summer breeze swept through the trees and covered your bare shoulders in goose flesh.

you wondered how you would muster the courage to go back to the party. you wondered how you would even find your way back. the gardens were a tall, grassy maze that you had hardly any business running through in the first place.

“(y/n)?” you heard a voice call. or rather, the voice—his voice. you had half a mind to brush it off as some kind of hypothermic delusion until eren smoothed through the entryway. his gaze caught yours from where you sat at the fountain, and incommunicable relief passed his eyes. “there you are,” if there was still any doubt that he was real, it was all extinguished when he wandered into the moonlit area towards you. hands folded politely behind his back, his hair a little messier than usual. “you had me worried for a moment.”

“guess i owe you a dance, then.” you attempted to joke, fighting off the shiver that threatened to rack your limbs.

“you owe me more than that, i think.” the glimmer of the moon made him look like an angel, and the firm tone coloring his voice did nothing to help. “like an explanation, maybe. as to why you’re out here.”

“how’d you even find me?” you challenged. “this place is,” you waved your arms high above your head as if to showcase its size. “massive.”

“i actually own the place, if you didn’t know.” you fought the urge to smile at his wit. eren took his hands from behind his back to unveil a pretty pink chanel heel. he only needed to hold it up for a second to know it was yours. “and i think you dropped something off on the way.”

you pulled up the skirt of your dress to see one foot still clad in its respective heel while the other was only sheathed in your nylon stockings. how much adrenaline had been coursing through your body for you to have not noticed? still inspecting your practically naked foot, you held your hand out to take the shoe from him, but he disregarded it as he kneeled before you. “no, let me.”

there was something especially intimate about this. about how delicate eren was being with you. his hands were big, but so capable of being gentle. the skin of his palms were so warm against your ankles, the tips of his fingers so light against your soles, you almost found yourself giggling at the pleasantness of it.

once he was finished, you stood, admittedly a little too flustered. “thank you.”

he seemed to barely acknowledge it, only nodding as he rose to his feet. “now, are you gonna tell me why you’re out here?”

for what felt like the first time the entire night, you finally allowed your shoulders to sink under all the emotion they had been carrying. “it’s silly.” eren’s gaze was unwavering, but soft nonetheless. he had the kind of eyes that made you want to tell him everything.

you turned your back to him, unsheathing yourself in the warmth of his stare. could eren hear the rapid thumping of your pulse? could he hear it skipping when he said, “i’m sure it’s not.”

“no it’s, uh,” gingerly, you began walking around the fountain, and you could hear his footsteps trailing close behind. “being jealous of a man’s wife, that’s…that’s, um, really stupid of me, actually…” your mouth was clumsy as it fumbled over the words, and you could only conceal the stupidity of your confession with a sardonic chuckle. “i should go.” you whispered, turning to face him again, with no intention of leaving.

“don’t.” eren protested. through your peripheral vision, you saw his hand reach for yours, and you were unsure whether you should flinch away or push yourself closer. 

your voice was a hair away from breaking. “there’s nothing for me out here.” you knew what you were saying. you understood its implications. eren was far from nothing, but he was also a fool if he believed the feelings you shared could ever go beyond this patch of land.

“how could you even say that knowing how i feel about you?” eren braved a step toward you, searching for the passion—the devotion—in your eyes that was so evident in his.

“how you feel about me?” the utter absurdity of it made you laugh, and it was then you registered the moisture building in your eyes. “yeah, like that means anything.” 

“and it doesn’t?” 

“it can’t!” the words escaped you in the form of a bitter, scratching scream. eren’s eyes only softened. “you’re married, so it can’t mean anything.”

“i think,” absolutely nothing could prepare you for the feeling of his fingertips brushing against yours. once, twice, then three times. something about each little touch made it a bit more real. now, your feelings were more than that. now, he was touching you. “i think it already does.”

it all happened so fast. you barely got the chance to think, this is such a bad idea before his fingertips were skating briskly up your arm and both of his hands—so big, and oh so capable—were on either sides of your neck. caressing the skin there, assessing the thunder of your pulse, pulling you closer until the tips of your noses brushed against one another.

the first syllable of his name left your mouth in a choked whimper, and that was all you could let before eren kissed you. 

soft. that was the only possible word. his lips were tender and sticky with champagne. you could tell he was testing your waters first—brushing his lips against yours ever so gently, allowing you to get a taste of one another before he went in for the kill. he planted a soft one on your bottom lip, then another when you felt yourself trembling. then he was at your top lip—also trembling with newborn nerves but still just as eager. “tell me to stop and i will.” eren breathed into your mouth.

you considered it for a moment. you considered letting the warmth of his hands leave your skin, letting him go back to the party, letting him leave you. his eyes were serious, and you could tell he was considering it too. you closed your eyes, grazed your lips over his just a fraction or so, and that was all the answer eren needed.

when he took your lips properly for the first time, it felt as though they were no longer yours. eren kissed you passionately, slowly, as if kissing was all you would ever be able to do. and you let him. as his tongue slipped between your already parted lips, you let yourself get lost in the champagne taste that lingered on it. you let him kiss you for so long that you’d started to get dizzy from how little you were breathing. and you loved it.

you loved having his mouth on you. you loved little wet sounds that emanated whenever he took his lips off yours. you loved how he was holding you—one hand at your nape and the other cupping your jaw. you loved how good he was making you feel. “eren, more.” you had managed to say between kisses.

and it seemed he was more than happy to oblige. he took his lips over your neck as if they belonged there, nipping and sucking at that same frenetic pulse point like he was hungry for it—hungry for you. you held his hair back as he worked down your neck and over your collarbones. eren’s eyes darkened as he smoothed his lips up and down the valley between your breasts. not yet kissing, but running his mouth over the delicate skin. “can i kiss you here?” he asked, voice muffled by desire as he palmed your left breast.

“uh-huh,” you nodded, and eren had dropped down on one knee for better access. smoothly, you maneuvered the straps of your dress off your shoulders just in time for eren to pull you in. 

his hands on your waist, his tongue making busywork over your pert left nipple, his name on your lips. “you like it when i touch you here?” he asked, the tip of his nose nudging the spot where his mouth had just been. you nodded again.

eren took a hand that had been on your waist and let it drop over your ankle. “what about right here?” then that hand was moving up your calf. “and here?” towards the back of your knee. “you like this too?” up the doughy flesh of your thigh, where he took his time fondling the nylon-covered skin. “oh, yeah, i know you like this.” he murmured as you squirmed.

“you’re so warm,” eren groaned as his remaining joined the other under your dress, both kneading your thighs whilst teasing the skin between them. the tip of his thumb grazed over the crotch area of your stockings and you shivered. “can i feel you here?” 

yes. the answer was so obvious that you’d hardly felt the need to say it. just as your mouth began to open around the response, a monstrous clap of thunder roared across the sky, followed by a burst of lightening, which was then followed by gentle rainfall.

it was like the rain had been trying to sober you. all the warmth, all the lust, all the irrationality—all rinsed away by the rain and its growing freneticism. hurriedly, you readjusted the shoulders of your dress and helped eren to his feet. “we should get out of here.” you sighed, swallowing a gulp. “before we get too wet.”

eren only nodded, his hands having settled on your waist. you waited for him to take them off, for the moment to be over, for your need to touch him to finally dissipate. you waited and waited, and it seemed he was doing the same.

finally, eren moved to slip his suit jacket off his shoulders and set it carefully over yours. “here, let me,”

“you shouldn’t.” you tried, already attempting to shrug the expensive material off of you.

eren persisted, “i want to.” as he tugged it over you more securely. “now, let’s get out of here.”

***

it was only eleven o’clock. the rest of the party, still inside and blissfully ignorant to the rain, weren’t there to see eren escort you into your car. 

“is your manager still in there?” eren asked once you were nestled safely in the backseat.

how angry would hange be if you left them there for the remainder of the night? how angry would they be if you pulled them away from a good party (and potentially even better money) just because you’d gotten a little carried away with eren in his garden?

“i’ll call them in the morning.” you decided.

tags ✧˖*°࿐ — @nyanglock @beyondsuki @punkologist @taylarxse @ittostan @rensbby @madsoncrack @shawtynoire @braxxinterlude @kai7911

14 MAY, SIX MONTHS AFTER THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION

the wings of a baby red bird whispered clumsily through the brisk noon air. without thinking, almost reflexively, you blew the bird a bout of kisses. good luck, you’d thought to yourself, hoping to quell the sick feeling curling in your stomach. though, it was only lunch with mikasa, so how much luck would you need?

a secret service agent escorted you to your table, where mikasa was already sitting. her lips, stained with crimson, stretched into a smile so wide her face could’ve cramped. “(y/n), i’m so glad you could make it!”

mikasa stood and enveloped you in a hug, the flowery scent of her perfume nearly making you vomit where you stood. “oh, don’t even mention it. the pleasure was mine.” pulling away from her embrace, you smiled to ebb the sick feeling. “besides, it’s been forever since we had lunch. y’know, with the election and all.”

“well, yes, being the first lady is quite the job.” mikasa…almost giggled. a childish, giddy, schoolgirl giggle that felt out of place coming from her thirty-nine year old mouth. that coupled with the way the diamonds in her glimmering wedding band caught the sunlight and nearly blinded you when she pushed a short lock of hair away from her face. if only she knew how greatly she tormented you without even knowing it.

swallowing the saliva that had pooled at the sides of your tongue, you smile again. “i can only imagine.” and god, if you hadn’t spent a considerable amount of time doing just that.

the moment you both slid back into your seats, a waiter made his way across the lawn and next to your table, a bottle of wine in his hands and ready to be poured into your respective glasses.

“no wine for me, actually.” mikasa said to the waiter, despite keeping her gaze trained on you the entire time. “a sparkling water will do.”

and when he turned to you, “i’ll have what she’s having—the sparkling water. and can you add a lemon slice?”

“of course, ma’am. it’ll be right out.”

“not drinking, huh? that’s…new. i like it.” mikasa joked just as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

you let the words fall gracefully, naturally off your tongue. not rehearsed or practiced at all. “don’t get your hopes up. i’m trying out the whole method acting thing. fuckin’ sucks, i tell you.”

the waiter was back, setting two glasses of sparkling water on the table. “well, if anyone can do it, it’s you.” you both raised your glasses in a silent toast before taking the first few sips.

it definitely quelled the nausea you were feeling, so you drank and drank and drank until you looked down at the cup and saw there was only ice and dripping condensation left to show for it. “sorry. i haven’t eaten, i guess.” you explained, humiliatingly breathless.

“trust me, i know the feeling. can you get her a refill?” mikasa requested, and the waiter quickly obeyed, taking your glass and heading off again.

for a moment, there was only the sound of leaves whistling through the wind, an occasional singsong of birds, and the fizzing of mikasa’s drink across from you. until she cleared her throat, a loud ahem slicing through the false sense of tranquility you’d trapped yourself in.

“let’s not beat around the bush, (y/n). you know and i know that i didn’t just invite you here for nothing. so let me just be straight with you.” it was all happening too quickly for you. all the words coming from her mouth, all the feelings you were supposed to be feeling—all delayed to make way for numbness more painful than anything. because you knew what she was about to say. it was just a matter of whether or not you could control what would happen after she did. “i know you’re fucking my husband, and i want you to stop.”

***

7 JULY, FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION

look a man straight in the eye when you shake his hand. your mother had always told you that, but you’d never understood the importance of it. up until now.

until you were shaking hands with the governor of california and trying not to crumble under the intensity of his gaze. a gaze so fervent and piercing it was en route to perforating whatever it was that shielded your soul.

“lovely to meet you.” his voice was syrup. soft and smooth and saccharine and dripping into your ears with every word he spoke. “you’re even more beautiful in person.”

so are you, you wanted to say. and it was true. he’d been at the forefront of every news channel and magazine for the past year or so. and up there, he was all pretty eyes and luscious hair and ivy league-educated words. up close…up close, he was different.

as your gaze slid down the thick, almost shiny locks of his hair, you felt your hand—the one currently in the snug grasp of his shake—twitch with the urge to reach out and touch it. to slide the pad of your thumb down a strand, or perhaps thread all of your fingers through the dark mass of waves and revel in that sensation alone.

could he feel the pulse in your wrist begin to pick up speed when you let your eyes roll over the prominent bridge of his nose? or the full, pillowy curves of his lips? of course, you couldn’t stare there for too long. or you’d run the risk of wanting to kiss him, and god only knows what that could lead to.

and did he notice the skin of your palms become sticky with sweat when you finally let yourself look into his eyes? they were a haze of blue-green darkness. hypnotic, oceanic irises growing thinner and thinner as they stretched around the steadily dilating expanse of inky black that were his pupils, making for a sight that—for lack of a better phrase, and because you could actually feel your airways being blocked with unadulterated awe—took your breath away.

if anyone was more beautiful in person, it couldn’t not be him. however, you’d bitten your tongue, settling for, “you’re too sweet, mr. governor.” your voice, a soft peal of laughter that you assured only indicated the utmost professionalism.

“un-unh.” he released your hand from his grip, and you weren’t prepared for the onslaught of goose flesh spreading over your arms when his palms settled over the skin there. “it’s eren. call me eren.” you sure as hell weren’t prepared for him to embrace you in a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.

you laughed a delightful little laugh. one that surely couldn’t be conveyed as anything but amiable. “only if you call me (y/n).”

“well, (y/n), my wife and i are big fans of your work.”

at the mention of your friend, you took your guilty eyes off him, and let yourself be flung back into reality. back to the party you were currently attending, with its nearly blinding beams of camera flash, sweet drips of champagne spilling past your lips, and wispy tendrils of smoke curling through the air.

the party where you’d originally come to just look pretty and stuff your face with hors d'œuvres, but were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder and a face all too familiar and smiling to be any perfect stranger.

mikasa ackerman—the laidback teacher’s assistant you’d sparked a friendship with your entire senior year at harvard. the girl you considered a very close friend and mentor from the week you met up until the day you graduated, soon after which the two of you lost all contact. but you hadn’t sweated it. you were too busy pursuing your acting career, she was too busy becoming a lawyer. and the governor’s wife, apparently.

“god, i haven’t seen you in ages.” her cheeks were tinted in a cheery blush, mouth turned up in a lopsided grin, an empty champagne flute balanced clumsily between her fingers. “well, not in person at least.” her wide, megawatt smile was the last thing you saw before she hugged you as if you had never stopped being friends. “but you’re in all those big movies, y’know. it’s like every time i turn on the TV, there you are.”

you blinked bashfully down at your feet, a gentle smile playing at your lips. “don’t make me blush.”

“oh, nonsense.” she rocked back and forth on her feet, running her fingers through her dark pixie cut. “y’know, my husband never believes me when i say we used to know each other.”

“when’d you get married?” your mouth picked up in a delighted smile, recalling distant, collegiate memories of mikasa wanting, ‘partnership and a powerful husband, in that order.’

she stood on her tiptoes, beckoning someone over with a fervent wave of her arm. “uh, close to four years ago, maybe. don’t quote me, though. i’ve had one or two.” what you weren’t expecting was for the governor of california to stroll over, a little tipsy and equally disoriented from the crowd he’d just emerged from, his gaze alight with something you couldn’t quite place when it landed on the two of you. mikasa interlocked your arms, her voice an ecstatic slur. “see, baby! i told you i knew her!”

***

you’d stumbled into your home that night with remnants of the party still stuck to your skin and an invite to lunch at the jaeger’s country club the following week.

***

14 JULY

“i always knew you were bad at sports, but golf? really?” mikasa chimed, her lips pulled apart in uncontrollable laughter as your golf ball swerved clumsily around the course.

when eren’s husky laugh floated into your ears, you could feel them toasting with embarrassment and shame. because your eyes had taken to feasting themselves upon him at the most inappropriate times.

because just as you were about to swing your club, there your eyes were, trailing over his towering figure. his hair, usually parted and coiffed to perfection, sat a little messier today, perfectly curtaining the gently chiseled edges of his face. his bottom lip, plush and pink, confined between busy teeth, making for a sight that sent a blush down your neck.

all that went without mentioning the sleeves of his oxford tee—rolled neatly up at the elbows and showcasing the perfect definition of his forearm as he leaned over on the handle of his golf club.

you swiped your tongue across your bottom lip in misplaced concentration. the expensive watch glinting around his wrist sending your lips up in a tiny smirk. because he was just your type. so handsome and so kind and so…

a tangible rope of guilt strung itself around your neck as your eyes traced over the gold wedding band on his finger. a symbol of perpetual love and unity that you were practically defacing as you continued to drool over him in the presence of his wife.

so, when it was time for you to swing your club, you’d spooled yourself in a web of distraction and ended up missing horribly.

“must be the wind.” you said, hoping that the bursts of laughter that followed would be enough to distract you from the guilt.

***

“here, let me help you.” eren offered, purely out of the kindness of his heart. not because of the way you stood there, the golf club perched sweetly in your grip with not a clue in the world how to use it. not because of how pretty you looked today—the delightful hem of your opaque-shaded skirt coming to a halt in the middle of your thighs and contrasting perfectly with the smooth darkness of your black top.

not because of the smile stretching across your face—so beautiful, pearly, and white that it nearly took one of his eyes out. not because of his budding attraction that had sprouted the moment you caught his notice on a silver screen and had only gotten worse when he’d laid eyes on you in the flesh. and certainly not because mikasa, his wife, for god’s sake, had stepped back inside for one reason or another—to powder her nose or something—and inadvertently granted him a moment alone with you for the very first time.

“listen, mr. governor—”

“—eren.”

“eren. listen. i may not golf every weekend like you weirdos,” you joked, and he couldn’t help the grin gracing his face. “but i know my way around a club, alright.”

“yeah, sure looked like it.”

you went silent for a moment, tongue clicking around in your mouth while your gaze wandered elsewhere. “fine.” you sighed out, faux exaggerating an eye roll and pout. “show me the reins, or whatever.”

***

that was how you had gotten here. the callused palms of governor eren jaeger pressed up against the backs of your hands under the guise of helping you swing a golf club. except there was no guise, and the feeling of having his hands on yours again had your mind nestled in delusion.

“okay, now, hit it.” he said, the words lowered an octave and trickling with honey as he uttered them into your ear. “aht, aht. remember,” his grip grew a bit tighter on your hands just as you were about to swing. “softly, just like i said. don’t think you’re advanced enough to do it any other way.” a teasing lilt colored his tone.

“i think you’re just holding me back, governor.” at that, you stole your eyes away from the union of your hands and blinked them shyly in his direction.

“eren, please.” if he was saying please, his eyes certainly didn’t convey it. “or i’ll have to start calling you esteemed actress, (y/n) (l/n).”

“you think i’m esteemed? don’t flatter me.”

“you don’t wanna know what i think about you.”

delighted heaps of air passed through your nose and mouth a couple times before you realized you were giggling. giggling like a blushing virgin on her first date over a few simple words. what was he doing to you?

your teeth dug deep into your bottom lip. “are you implying something, eren?”

eren neglected to answer, only staring at you whilst smoothing the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “now, on my count, you’re gonna putt it, alright.”

“mhm,” you hummed, forcing yourself to look back down at the ball.

“one, two,” you kept your eye strained on the ball. despite the heady scent of his cologne burning through your nostrils more prominently than ever. despite the very foreign, yet also very very welcome, feeling of his hands on you. “three.”

on his count, you putted the ball just as he’d instructed. was it an exaggeration to say you could feel your pupils dilating? reducing your irises to mere rings of color as they followed the movements of the ball?

it rolled into its intended hole with a satisfactory thunk, and you could feel eren shoot you an i told you so gaze so prominent it felt as though it had grown legs and crawled over your back.

you pursed your lacquered lips. “i could’ve done that in my sleep. just distracted, that’s all.”

as the words left your mouth, you became acutely aware of the distance—or lack thereof—between you and this very married man. sucking a sobering breath through your nose, you detangled your hands from his with as little awkwardness to spare as possible.

***

“what the hell are you doing in my house?”

peeling your boots off, you padded into the conversation pit where your manager was sitting. chowing down at a subway sandwich with hardly enough time to breathe between bites.

“i’m your manager.” they said, voice muffled with bread and meat and sauce. “what kinda manager would i be if i didn’t make arbitrary visits?”

“the kind that respects my privacy.” you made a seat for yourself beside them, examining the bag to see what they’d gotten you. “and besides, these visits are never arbitrary. you’ve always got a reason.” meaty, cheesy delight filled your nostrils as you pulled your sandwich from the bag. they had delivered your favorite, and that was enough to hear them out. even if… “usually a bad one.”

“i guess i do.” hange sighed, shaking the ice around in their cup of mountain dew. “so, i’m assuming you know why i’m here.”

chewing like a woman starved, you shook your head. “i’ve got no idea. been on my best behavior.”

“oh, really? well, allow me.” hange gingerly wiped their fingers of sandwich remnants and pulled something from their nearby briefcase.

a magazine. one that had your face on it, which wasn’t anything foreign. although for whatever reason your face was on it must’ve been what had hange in this frenzy.

the headline read, HOLLYWOOD HARLOT MOVES ON TO POLITICIANS accompanied by a photo snapped of you and eren meeting for the first time. locked in what page six would probably call, a steamy gaze. although, what other way was there to describe it? if you hadn’t known any better, you looked like a pair of star crossed lovers separated by war. or something.

“eren jaeger? him? him?” hange’s face was more angry than disappointed, which was good enough in its own right. “out of all the politicians, you sleep with the married one who’s running for president?”

you steadfastly defended, “i didn’t sleep with anybody.” although what you actually did wasn’t much better.

“look at this, (y/n)!” hange jabbed a finger at the image before pushing deep breaths through their nose. “he’s looking at you like he’s never seen a woman before.”

you denied, taking a sip of their mountain dew. “he was starstruck, hange.”

“that’s not what they think.” per usual, hange didn't waste a breath dismissing you. “they think you’ve moved on from sleeping with movie producers to politicians. which is really, really bad.”

“yeah, i’m aware, but still. it’s not true.”

“these people don’t know this. don’t care, either.” hange threw the magazine hazardlessly over your coffee table, pushing their glasses over their hairline. a usual indication of their utmost seriousness. “look, with a little threatening—”

“—threatening?”

“yeah. slander, defamation, whatever charges i could think of. not the point. i got them to scrap the story.”

your head fell atop their shoulder in unimaginable relief, arms releasing tension you didn’t even know was there. “thank—”

“—but, i don’t always know how well that’ll work, so please.”

“please?”

hange took your hands in a vice grip, probably hoping to squeeze some sense into them. “stop making politicians fall in love with you.”

***

21 JULY

did you have him under a spell? there was no way to exactly prove that. but eren exhibited all the signs of a man charmed. yes, charmed. there wasn’t a more perfect way to put it than that. you had charmed him. with your dazzling laugh and your perfect hair and all those funny things you said that made him completely forgo the fact he was running for the highest office in the land.

every day following your little golf excursion, you had made dutiful work at setting up shop in the confines of his head. occupying his every passing thought with the sound of your laugh, embedding his psyche with the memory of your hands in his, rendering him completely oblivious to the wedding band on his finger with just a twinkle of your eye.

no, that last part was on him and him alone.

now, he’d be the first to admit that his marriage to mikasa was a strange one. her parents knew his, and when he met her, he could already kind of tell he was going to marry her. and not in the phony, sappy, hallmark greeting card way, no.

but in the way that meant he was thirty-three, still unmarried, and could see this as his parents’ way of throwing a bride at him. the idea wasn’t all that unappealing. mikasa was beautiful, smart, and quick-witted, and eren could see himself falling in love with her. hell, parts of him had. the little naive ones, but still.

but the little spark was gone. y’know the one that ignited in his belly whenever she kissed him on the cheek? or took his hand in hers? or whispered sweet nothings in his ear? it was gone. he guessed that was a side effect of marrying someone you didn’t really like all that much.

they eventually managed to become two people that lived together and occasionally had sex. some of which was pretty good, all of it in an attempt to get mikasa pregnant at some point later in the year. only five presidents had been childless throughout their term, and eren was unlikely to be the sixth. but he couldn’t speak too soon. his approval ratings told a different story.

still, regardless of whether he loved mikasa or not, eren had a respectable amount of resolve. he wouldn’t step out on his wife because a twenty-something-year old looked at him with eyes that were bespeckled with midas’ touch. no matter how beautiful or funny she was.

so, why was he standing here? here being the middle of his bedroom, staring into his eighty inch TV screen as if it contained the cure for cancer or something.

“do you like it when i touch you here?”

oh. that was why. he’d mindlessly turned on the television as he toweled himself off, not even noticing one of your films had been playing until his ears caught the familiar tone of your laugh. given the recent state of his mind, (and how frequently you occupied it) even a simple laugh was enough to have his neck snapping in the direction of the screen. but it wasn’t any simple laugh.

it was nearly identical to the way you’d laughed during your golfing stint the other way. identical in its coquettish cadence. identical in the way it spilled easily out of your lips.

“mmm, yeah.”

except you weren’t playing golf with the man on screen. you were letting him slide his palm up the expanse of your inner thigh until the skirt of your dress began to crumple and bunch around your upper legs.

you were spreading your legs around the movements of his hand and parting your lips so he could slip his tongue into your mouth. you were pulling him forward by the meat of his biceps, and at the same time, he was taking you into his lap and sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

the camera then cut to a single shot of your face, crumpled with unbridled, purely pornographic pleasure. it wasn’t long before eren found himself enraptured with the sight: your lacquered lips parted to make way for an outpouring of contented sighs. the translucent and nearly invisible pearl of sweat beading at your hairline. the unfocused picture of your hands carding through your companion’s hair.

one could nearly call it a vision.

nearly.

because the next scene was of you again. face sated with contentedness as you stumbled through the throes of slumber, some sort of dream premiering beneath the lids of your eyes.

that was the real vision. a fact eren and his slowly hardening cock could get attested to.

then, mikasa was walking into the room. she glanced at the TV. “isn’t she amazing in this?” she asked, a happy tone accompanying her smile.

“i haven’t really seen it.” eren admitted. he actually had seen a number of your films (three to be exact), but you did have quite a few of them. that wasn’t even including the new one set to premiere in just a couple of weeks. at that thought, eren considered the possibility of calling and congratulating you. an option that was as outlandish as it was stupid.

call you. so he could do…what, exactly? make a fool of himself just for the sake of hearing your voice? though, he wouldn’t consider himself too above that. he had unabashedly flirted with you with his wife less than a mile away. not to mention the erection dimpling the meat of his inner thigh.

and what was more? he was running for president! he wasn’t in his twenties anymore. the days of newborn love and hopeful courting were long behind him and if he planned on being elected, surely it should stay that way.

mikasa slid into bed, her lithe body sheathed in the creamy silk of a nightgown and stretching under the cover of the sheets. “well, you should. it’s some of her best work.”

you’re telling me.

***

eren had ventured back into the bathroom to change into his pajamas. as well as rinse the horniness from his system via splashes of brisk water, an attempt so futile he couldn’t help but scoff at himself.

“we should call her.” mikasa suggested upon eren’s return to their bedroom. “y’know, congratulate her on the movie. maybe have her over for dinner after the primary.”

but eren could tell by the spectacles sitting gingerly over mikasa’s nose and the tell-tale scrawling of her pen in her planner that it was no longer a suggestion. the plan had seeded itself within her mind, and therefore bloomed to fruition in reality. “i’ll have floch set it up, yeah?”

“‘m all for it, honey.” eren murmured, stamping her temple with a kiss as he slid into bed next to her.

***

it was only a few moments later when mikasa set aside her planner and glasses.

“i know how stressful it’s been.” the cold and soft palms of her hands found themselves on eren’s neck, scaling down the planes of his clothed chest and just whispering at the hem of his pants. “with the election and all.”

eren slid a tentative hand around her wrist, head shrouded in rapidly blooming feelings of guilt. “mikasa, what’re you doin’?”

“just wanna help.” she breached past the soft flannel, fingers threading through the soft mount of curls at his base. “will you let me do that, honey?”

mikasa’s fingertips kissed the skin of his inner thigh, and the strangled moan that bubbled from eren’s throat seemed to be affirmative enough for her.

she wrapped her digits around him, breathing out, “see, you’re already so hard. just let me…” a delighted exhale tunneled through her nostrils, eyes brimming with contented triumph as she dealt him that first stroke. “let me make you feel good.”

it had only been a short while when eren let his eyes flutter to a close, and an even shorter while when you began to blanket every thought in his head. he really had no business thinking of you. in fact, that was probably the last thing he needed to do. but god, how he wanted you.

how he wanted you here, sitting above him and handling him just the way he needed. he distantly recalled the way your hands looked the other day—soft and small and barren of any jewelry. how they felt in his hands and how they’d feel around his dick. a hiss whistled through his teeth and the grip he had on mikasa’s hand spasmed.

“tell me how good it feels.” mikasa cooed, taking her other hand and swiftly maneuvering that same grip over to her breast. and eren wasted no time letting the doughy flesh spill between his fingers, feeling her nipple harden beneath the pad of his thumb as hazily kneaded it.

eren just had to screw his eyes a little shut tighter, and it was you. laying above him, holding him in your hands, whispering all those sweet nothings in his ear as you brought him closer and closer to his peak.

and, oh, was he close. so close that all he had to do was think of the way your mouth formed around your laugh, or how good it felt to touch your hands, or the way your lips formed around the words, “mr. governor.”

sparks bursted behind his eyes as he came. shaky breaths wracking his chest and uncharacteristic noises flying from his lips as he rode out his high. all while holding back the urge to call out your name.

while still trying to feasibly pump breaths through his lungs, mikasa took him in a messy kiss. so messy that it would’ve bordered on lazy if she hadn’t mounted herself atop his dampened lap almost immediately after.

“c’mon, honey.” an ecstatic grin broke across her face as she pulled her tank top over her head. “i think tonight may be the night.”

next chapter here!