gunpowder
mafia!eren jaeger x reader | w.c 1.2k
a/n: tysm n ilysm @theygottheircages for helping me decide on who to write this bad boy about xx it makes sm sense i hate it sm,, also if i missed any tws pls let me know!!!
— 18+ dark content minors dni —
warnings: it seems dubcon-ish but reader is v much into it, gun play (russian roulette), public displays of dangerous sexy times, mafia involvement, alcohol, drunk reader!!!!!
Sticky, hot and sticky and suffocating and–
“Baby...” His voice is low, a mere vibration in your ear somehow penetrating the heavy bass thrumming through your skull, “what am I going to do with you, hm?”
Suffocating and sticky and his words are barely making sense. When did his fingers start slipping past the hem of your skirt, when did the scorching bodies moving around the two of you start to part?
“Open your eyes, look at me.” His voice is firm, a little clearer than before with a slight growl at the end. It forces you to blink away the heaviness from your lids, the fluorescent lights of the bathroom making your eyes throb and the thought of closing your eyes again is more tempting than ever.
Reprieve comes in the form of his perfect face coming into view, full lips drawn into a lazy half smile but the dark look in his eyes is far less than gentle or understanding.
“And what do you think you’re doing here?” He smooths his bruised knuckles over your heated cheeks, fingers dragging along your jaw to pinch your chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Wan’ed to see y-you.” The slurring of your words does nothing to satiate the rage seeping into his expression, if anything his features seem to turn sharper.
Spelling out your certain doom.
“Eren puh-please, don’ be mad, m’so sorry.” You lean forward, hands out in hopes of catching his shirt between your fingers, only to be shoved back into the wall, the thud radiating a dull pain.
“I made it clear, I made myself very clear.” His hands land on either side of your head, caging you in, nothing more than a whimpering mess at his mercy. “When I am working, you stay at home and sit there, looking pretty, nothing else.”
He’s making a point to be mean, to make you feel small and stupid. And in his presence? Maybe that’s all you are.
Your gaze drunkenly wanders over him, you’ve never seen him in his “work clothes” before. It only proves his unspoken occupation that much more.
Where every day he wears more muted casual clothing – “athleisure” as he calls it – here he stands with thick chains hanging off his neck, a rather expensive fur jacket draped across his shoulders and white tank stretched across his chest.
He looks dangerous.
He looks delicious.
Something tucked in his waistband catches the light, the glint of it drawing your attention.
“Where ya lookin’ sweetheart, my eyes are up here.” He taps at your chin, your eyes snapping up to meet his. There’s something curious in his gaze that has you even more on edge, alarm bells starting to ring in the back of your mind. “You do love shiny things huh?”
He draws the revolver from the waistband, careful and slow, finding yourself unable to look away as he fixes his finger to rest over the trigger. The barrel is polished to perfection, catching a sliver of your reflection as he raises it between the two of you, pointing it towards the ceiling.
“Should we play a game? Give you a chance to make up for breaking the one rule I have for you?”
He doesn’t wait for a response, sliding the cylinder from the frame and letting the bullets fall from it. All but one.
“In m-my mouth.” Your response is instantaneous, unable to hide your anticipation and no longer held back by sobriety. He’s never gone this far and you’ve never pushed him to, not until now.
A wide grin takes over his smirk, something sadistic and a little proud that sends your heart into a frenzy.
He spins the cylinder then brings the tip of the gun to your lips, tracing along the curve of them before pressing the warm metal against the seam forcing them to part. The taste of metal and a hint of gunpowder has you sobering up, instilling a touch of fear yet making no dent in your excitement.
You watch as he draws the hammer back, his finger fixed over the trigger. And just before pulling it he leans in, a quick peck to your temple before drawing back.
Click.
“One.” His tongue flicks over his bottom lip.
Click.
“Two.” He cocks his head to the side once more, a look of fascination flashing in his eyes.
Click.
“Three.”
He starts to pull it back, a dissatisfied moan and a challenging glint in your eyes pausing his movements. He blinks at you, that same smile from before splits his face again and you can’t help but shudder.
“My pretty baby loves to play, huh?” A garbled affirmation escapes from you, earning a satisfied hum from him as he shoves the barrel further into your mouth forcing you to gag around it. He drags the hammer back for a fourth time.
Click.
“Four.” Your heart threatens to burst from your chest, the thought of just how lucky can you be crosses your mind. He leans once more, arm braced against the wall with his lips ghosting over your ear.
Click.
“Five.”
Before you can even react he’s ripping the gun from your mouth and firing the last shot into the wall, the sound ringing in your ears as he tosses the revolver to the floor.
A hand finds its way into your hair, forcing your head back as he seals his mouth over yours, his tongue chasing the taste of metal.
Your hands fly up, gripping at the white fur of his jacket, fingers tightening as he rolls his hips against yours.
“Mmph Eren, please, please.”
“So pretty for me…” He mutters against your lips, teeth chasing his words. It’s too much, it’s far too much as he hikes your skirt up, slotting his thigh between yours and forcing your legs to fall apart.
He’s mouthing at your throat when there’s the telltale slam of the bathroom door being thrown rather harshly open. There’s a clench of Eren’s jaw, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh before he sighs and pulls away just enough to respond.
“What?” He calls out, his annoyance palpable.
“Sorry boss, but there’s a problem.” Floch’s voice echoes against the tiled walls, and you slump further against the wall, disappointment filling your veins.
Without warning your boyfriend shrugs you off, almost sending you to the floor as he rips open the stall door. Thankfully he’s blocking you from view with his broad frame as you scramble to make yourself somewhat decent.
“And who’s problem was it before it became mine?” His tone is even, but the venom that drips from each word is clear.
“So about that, it’s not that bad you see–”
“Floch.”
“...It was your brother’s assignment but–”
“Let me guess, he decided to turn on his infamous charm and forgot to make the very important deal like I explicitly told him to and most likely got caught screwing the man’s daughter in a rather demeaning location?”
“The garden shed.” Floch mutters.
“That’s classier than where he was caught with the mayor’s son.” He sighs in a more amused rather than upset manner, he looks over his shoulder and shoots you a wink. “I’ll get Connie to drive you back to the apartment.”
“Okay.”
He waits until Floch makes his exit before turning to face you properly, his hands making their way to your hips to draw you close again. He touches his forehead to yours, and you can’t help but lose yourself once more.
“And do me a favor Princess, don’t surprise me like this again. If you want to see me work…” He smirks, a touch more deviously, “I suppose I can think of something for you to do for me.”
